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MARGOT  ASQUITH 

AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

IN   TWO  VOLUMES 

WITH  TWENTY.  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 

AND   NUMEROUS   REPRODUCTIONS   OF 

ORIGINAL  DRAWINGS 


Psalm  xxxix 

5.  Verily  every  man  at  his  best  state  is  altogether  vanity. 

6.  Surely  every  man  walketh  in  a  vain  shew:  surely 
they  are  disquieted  in  vain;  he  heapeth  up  riches,  and 
knoweth  not  who  shall  gather  them. 

7.  And  now.  Lord,  what  wait  I  for  ?  my  hope  is  in  Thee. 


MMiiMitfiMMii 


T 


M ARGOT,  LEADING  SPIRIT  OF  THE  SOUI-S 
(PEXCIL  DRAWIKG  BY  THE  MARCHIONESS 
OF  GRANBY,  DUCHESS  OF  RUTLAXD) 


mm 

MARGOT  ASQUITH 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

VOLUME  TWO 


NEW  XBJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1920, 
BY  GEORGE    H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


DA 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS  OP 
VOLUME  TWO 

CHAPTER  I 

PAOB 

The  Souls— Lord  Curzon's  Poem  and  Dinner  Party  and  Who 
Were  There — Margot's  Inventory  op  the  Group — ^Tilt 
WITH  the  Late  Lady  Londonderry — ^Visit  to  Tennyson;  His 
Contempt  for  Critics;  His  Habit  of  Living — ^J.  K.  S.  Not  a 
Soul — Margot's  Friendship  with  John  Addington  Symonds; 
His  Praise  of  Marie  Bashkirtseff 11 

CHAPTER  II 

Character  Sketch  of  Marqot — Plans  to  Start  a  Magazine — 
Meets  Master  of  Balliol;  Jowett's  Orthodoxy;  His  In- 
terest IN  AND  Influence  Over  Margot — Rose  in  "Robert 
Elsmere"  Identified  as  Margot — Jowett's  Opinion  of  New- 
man— ^JowETT  Advises  Margot  to  Marry — Huxley's  Blas- 
phemy       77 

CHAPTER  III 

Fast  and  Furious  Hunting  in  Leicestershire — Country  House 
Party  and  a  New  Admirer — Friendship  with  Lord  and 
Lady  Manners 131 

CHAPTER  IV 

Margot  Falls  in  Love  Again — "Havoc"  in  the  Hunting  Field; 
A  Fall  and  a  Ducking — The  Famous  Mrs.  Bo;  Unheeded 
Advice  from  a  Rival — A  Lovers'  Quarrel — Peter  Jumps  in 
THE  Window — ^The  American  Trotter — Another  Lover  In- 
tervenes— Peter  Returns  from  India;  Illumination  from  a 
Dark  Woman 137 

CHAPTER  V 

The  Asquith  Family  Tree — Herbert  H.  Asquith's  Mother — 
Asquith's  First  Marriage;  Meets  Margot  Tennant  for  First 


[v] 


CONTENTS 

PAGBI 

Time — ^Talk  Till  Dawn  on  House  of  Commons*  Terrace; 
Other  Meetings — Engagement  a  London  Sensation — Mar- 
BiAOB  AN  Event 191 

CHAPTER  VI 

The  Asquith  Children  by  the  I'irst  Marriage — ^Margot's 
Stepdaughter  Violet — Memory  of  the  First  Mrs.  Asquith — 
Raymond's  Brilliant  Career — Arthur's  Heroism  in  the  War    208 

CHAPTER  VII 

Visit  to  Woman's  Prison — ^Interview  There  with  Mrs.  Maybrick 
— Scene  in  a  Lifer's  Cell;  the  Husband  Who  Never  Knew 
Thought  Wife  Made  Money  Sewing — Margot's  Plea  that 
Failed 237 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Margot's  First  Baby  and  Its  Loss — ^Dangerous  Illness — Letter 
from  Queen  Victoria — Sm  William  Harcourt's  Pleasantries 
— Asquith  Ministry  Falls — Visit  from  Duchess  D'Aosta  .     .     251 

CHAPTER  IX 

Margot  in  1906  Sums  Up  Her  Life;  a  Lot  of  Love-making,  a 
Little  Fame  and  More  Abuse:  a  Real  Man  and  Great  Hap- 
piness  265 


[vi] 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF 
VOLUME  TWO 

Mabgot,  Leading  Spirit  of  the  Souls.    Pencil  Drawing  by  the 

Duchess  of  Rutland Frontispiece 

PAOB 

The  Right  Honourable  Arthur  James  Balfour,  as  He  Appeared 

IN  the  House  of  Commons  During  the  80's 14 

Lady  Desbobough,  Whom  Margot  Calls  the  Cleverest  Woman 

IN  England 49 

Stanza  Written  by  Lord  Tennyson  for  Margot  at  Aldworth, 

1884:  Hitherto  Unpublished  Tribute  to  Sir  Walter  Scott      51 

Godfrey   Webb:    Member   of   the   Souls   and  Godfather  of 

Princess  Bibesco 64 

JEarl  of  Pembroke,  Member  op  the  Souls 97 

Lord  Midleton,  Better  Known  as  St.  John  Brodrick,  Former 

Secretary  of  State  for  War 112 

John  Addington  Symonds,  Who  Encouraged  Margot's  Literary 

Endeavours 112 

Viscount  Grey  of  Fallodon,  Friend  of  the  Asquith  Family,  and 
Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs  When  England 
Sent  the  Ultimatum  to  Germany  in  1914 145 

W.  E.  Gladstone,  Great  Liberal  Statesman,  Whose  Nephew 
Arthur  Lyttleton  Married  Laura  Tennant,  Margot's 
Sister 160 

Four  Generations  of  England's  Royal  Family:  Queen  Victoria, 

King  Edward  VII,  King  George  V,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales    177 

Herbert  Henry  Asquith,  as  He  Was  When  He  Resigned  the 

Premiership  to  Lloyd  George  During  the  War       ....     192 

Raymond  Asquith,  Son  of  Herbert  Henry  Asquith  by  His  First 

Marriage.    He  Was  Killed  in  Belgium  During  the  War  1918 

[vii] 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PA«B 

Announcement  in  "The  New  York  Herald"  op  the  Engagement 

OF  Margot  Tennant  and  Herbert  Henrt  Abquith      .     .     .     201 

Princess  Bibesco,  Margot  Asquith's  Only  Daughter,  Who  Mar- 
ried Prince  Bibesco,  Rumanian  Diplomat 225 

Home  Secretaries,  Past  and  Present 243 

Margot  Asquith  and  Her  Son  Anthony,  Whose  Influence  Over 
Her,  She  Says  in  Her  Dla.ry,  Has  Been  Greater  Than  That 
OF  Ant  Other  Human  Beinq 240 


[viii] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 
AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  SOULS — LORD  CURZON's  POEM  AND  DINNER 
PARTY  AND  WHO  WERE  THERE MARGOT's  IN- 
VENTORY OF  THE  GROUP TILT  WITH  THE  LATE 

I  LADY  LONDONDERRY VISIT  TO  TENNYSON;  HIS 
CONTEMPT  FOR  CRITICS ;  HIS  HABIT  OF  LIVING 
J.  K.  S.  NOT  A  SOUL MARGOT's  FRIENDSHIP 
WITH  JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS;  HIS  PRAISE 
OF  MARIE  BASHKIRTSEFF 


O  one  ever  knew  how  it  came  about  that  I  and 
my  particular  friends  were  called  "the  Souls." 
The  origin  of  our  grouping  together  I  have  already- 
explained:  we  saw  more  of  one  another  than  we 
should  probably  have  done  had  my  sister  Laura 
Lyttelton  lived,  because  we  were  in  mourning  and 
did  not  care  to  go  out  in  general  society;  but  why 
we  were  called  "Souls"  I  do  not  know. 

The  fashionable — ^what  was  called  the  "smart 

[11] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

set" — of  those  days  centred  round  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  afterwards  King  Edward  VII.,  and  had 
Newmarket  for  its  head-quarters.  As  far  as  I  could 
see,  there  was  more  exclusiveness  in  the  racing 
world  than  I  had  ever  observed  among  the  Souls; 
and  the  first  and  only  time  I  went  to  Newmarket 
the  welcome  extended  to  me  by  the  shrewd  and 
select  company  there  made  me  feel  exactly  like  an 
alien. 

We  did  not  play  bridge  or  baccarat  and  our 
rather  intellectual  and  literary  after-dinner  games 
were  looked  upon  as  pretentious. 

Arthur  Balfour — ^the  most  distinguished  of  the 
Souls  and  idolised  by  every  set  in  society — ^was  the 
person  who  drew  the  enemy's  fire.  He  had  been 
well  known  before  he  came  among  us  and  it  was 
considered  an  impertinence  on  our  part  to  make 
him  play  pencil-games  or  be  our  intellectual  guide 
and  critic.  Nearly  all  the  young  men  in  my  circle 
were  clever  and  became  famous;  and  the  women, 
although  not  more  intelligent,  were  less  worldly 
than  their  fashionable  contemporaries  and  many  of 
them  both  good  to  be  with  and  distinguished  to 
look  at. 

What  interests  me  most  on  looking  back  now  at 
[12] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

those  ten  years  is  the  loyalty,  devotion  and  fidelity 
which  we  showed  to  one  another  and  the  pleasure 
which  we  derived  from  friendships  that  could  not 
have  survived  a  week  had  they  been  accompanied 
by  gossip,  mocking,  or  any  personal  pettiness. 
Most  of  us  had  a  depth  of  feeling  and  moral  and 
religious  ambition  which  are  entirely  lacking  in 
the  clever  young  men  and  women  of  to-day.  Our 
after-dinner  games  were  healthier  and  more  inspir- 
ing than  theirs.  "Breaking  the  news,"  for  instance, 
was  an  entertainment  that  had  a  certain  vogue 
among  the  younger  generation  before  the  war.  It 
consisted  of  two  people  acting  together  and  con- 
veying to  their  audience  various  ways  in  which 
they  would  receive  the  news  of  the  sudden  death 
of  a  friend  or  a  relation  and  was  considered  extra- 
ordinarily funny;  it  would  never  have  amused  any 
of  the  Souls.  The  modern  habit  of  pursuing,  de- 
tecting and  exposing  what  was  ridiculous  in  simple 
people  and  the  unkind  and  irreverent  manner  in 
which  slips  were  made  material  for  epigram  were 
unbearable  to  me.  This  school  of  thought — which 
the  young  group  called  "anticant" — encouraged 
hard  sayings  and  light  doings,  which  would  have 
profoundly  shocked  the  most  frivolous  among  us. 

[13] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Brilliance  of  a  certain  kind  may  bring  people  to- 
gether for  amusement,  but  it  will  not  keep  them 
together  for  long;  and  the  young,  hard  pre-war 
group  that  I  am  thinking  of  was  short-lived. 

The  present  Lord  Curzon*  also  drew  the  enemy's 
fire  and  was  probably  more  directly  responsible  for 
the  name  of  the  Souls  than  any  one. 

He  was  a  conspicuous  young  man  of  ability, 
with  a  ready  pen,  a  ready  tongue,  an  excellent  sense 
of  humour  in  private  life  and  intrepid  social  bold- 
ness. He  had  appearance  more  than  looks,  a  keen, 
lively  face,  with  an  expression  of  enamelled  self- 
assurance.  Like  every  young  man  of  exceptional 
promise,  he  was  called  a  prig.  The  word  was  so 
misapplied  in  those  days  that,  had  I  been  a  clever 
young  man,  I  should  have  felt  no  confidence  in 
myself  till  the  world  had  called  me  a  prig.  He 
was  a  remarkably  intelligent  person  in  an  excep- 
tional generation.  He  had  ambition  and — what  he 
claimed  for  himself  in  a  brilliant  description — 
"middle-class  method";  and  he  added  to  a  kindly 
feeling  for  other  people  a  warm  corner  for  himself. 
Some  of  my  friends  thought  his  contemporaries  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  George  Wyndham  and 

*Earl  Curzon  of  Kedleston. 

[14] 


THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE  ARTHUR  JAMES  BALFGUB 
AS   HE  APPEARED  IN  THE    HOUSE   OF   COMMONS 
DURING  THE  80's 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Harry  Cust,  would  go  farther,  as  the  former  prom- 
ised more  originality  and  the  latter  was  a  finer 
scholar,  but  I  always  said — and  have  a  record  of 
it  in  my  earliest  diaries — ^that  George  Curzon  would 
easily  outstrip  his  rivals.  He  had  two  incalculable 
advantages  over  them:  he  was  chronically  indus- 
trious and  self-sufficing;  and,  though  Oriental  in 
his  ideas  of  colour  and  ceremony,  with  a  poor  sense 
of  proportion,  and  a  childish  love  of  fine  people, 
he  was  never  self-indulgent.  He  neither  ate,  drank 
nor  smoked  too  much  and  left  nothing  to  chance. 
^^K  No  one  could  turn  with  more  elasticity  from 
^Bork  to  play  than  George  Curzon ;  he  was  a  first- 
^rote  host  and  boon  companion  and  showed  me 
and  mine  a  steady  and  sympathetic  love  over  a 
long  period  of  years.  Even  now,  if  I  died,  although 
he  belongs  to  the  more  conventional  and  does  not 
allow  himself  to  mix  with  people  of  opposite  politi- 
cal parties,  he  would  write  my  obituary  notice. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  telling,  he  was 
threatened  with  lung  trouble  and  was  ordered  to 
Switzerland  by  his  doctors.  We  were  very  unhappy 
and  assembled  at  a  farewell  banquet,  to  which  he 
entertained  us  in  the  Bachelors'  Club,  on  the  10th 
of  July,  1889.    We  found  a  poem  welcoming  us 

[15] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

on  our  chairs,  when  we  sat  down  to  dinner,  in  which 
we  were  all  honourably  and  categorically  men- 
tioned.   Some  of  our  critics  called  us  "the  Gang"  i 
— ^to  which  allusion  is  made  here — ^but  we  were 
ultimately  known  as  the  Souls. 

This  famous  dinner  and  George's  poem  caused  a 
lot  of  fun  and  friction,  jealousy,  curiosity  and  end- 
less diiscussion.  It  was  followed  two  years  later 
by  another  dinner  given  by  the  same  host  to  the 
same  guests  and  in  the  same  place,  on  the  9th  of 
July,  1891. 

The  repetition  of  this  dinner  was  more  than  the 
West  End  of  London  could  stand;  and  I  was 
the  object  of  much  obloquy.  I  remember  dining 
with  Sir  Stanley  and  Lady  Clarke  to  meet  King 
Edward — ^then  Prince  of  Wales — ^when  my  hostess 
said  to  me  in  a  loud  voice,  across  the  table: 

"There  were  some  clever  people  in  the  world,  you 
know,  before  you  were  born.  Miss  Tennantl" 

Feeling  rather  nettled,  I  replied: 

"Please  don't  pick  me  out.  Lady  Clarke,  as  if  I 
alone  were  responsible  for  the  stupid  ones  among 
whom  we  find  ourselves  to-day." 

Having  no  suspicion  of  other  people,  I  was  sel- 
[16] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

dom  on  the  defensive  and  did  not  mean  to  be  rude, 
but  I  was  young  and  intolerant. 
This  was  George  Curzon's  poem: 

10th  JULY,  1889. 


Ho!  list  to  a  lay 

Of  that  company  gay. 
Compounded  of  gallants  and  graces. 

Who  gathered  to  dine. 

In  the  year  '89, 
In  a  haunt  that  in  Hamilton  Place  is. 

There,  there  where  they  met. 

And  the  banquet  was  set 
At  the  bidding  of  Georgius  Curzon; 

Brave  youth!  'tis  his  pride. 

When  he  errs,  that  the  side 
Of  respectable  licence  he  errs  on. 

Around  him  that  night — 
Was  there  e'er  such  a  sight? 

Souls  sparkled  and  spirits  expanded; 
For  of  them  critics  sang, 
That  tho'  christened  the  Gang, 

By  a  spiritual  link  they  were  banded. 

Souls  and  spirits,  no  doubt 

But  neither  without 
Fair  visible  temples  to  dwell  in! 

E'en  your  image  divine 

Must  be  girt  with  a  shrine. 
For  the  pious  to  linger  a  spell  in. 

[17] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

There  was  seen  at  that  feast 
Of  this  band,  the  High  Priest, 

The  heart  that  to  all  hearts  is  nearest; 
Him  may  nobody  steal 
From  the  true  Common  weal, 

The'  to  each  is  dear  Arthur^  the  dearest. 

America  lends. 

Nay,  she  gives  when  she  sends 
Such  treasures  as  Harry  ^  and  Daisy  ^; 

Tho'  many  may  yearn. 

None  but  Harry  can  turn 
That  sweet  little  head  of  hers  crazy. 

There  was  much-envied  Strath^ 

With  the  lady^  who  hath 
Taught  us  all  what  may  life  be  at  twenty; 

Of  pleasure  a  taste. 

Of  duty  no  waste. 
Of  gentle  philosophy  plenty. 

Kitty  Drummond  ^  was  there — 
Where  was  Lawrence/  oh!  where?— 

And  my  Lord^  and  my  Lady  Granby^; 
Is  there  one  of  the  Gang 
Has  not  wept  at  the  pang 

That  he  never  can  Violet's  man  be? 

From  Wilton,  whose  streams 
Murmur  sweet  in  our  dreams, 

*  The  Right  Hon.  A.  J.  Balfour. 

»Mr.  and  Mrs.  White. 

•The  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Sutherland. 

*Col.  and  Mrs.  L.  Drummond. 

■Now  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Rutland. 

[18] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Come  the  EarP  and  his  Countess^  together; 
In  her  spirit's  proud  flights 
We  are  whirled  to  the  heights, 
He  sweetens  our  stay  in  the  nether. 

Dear  Evan*^  was  there, 

The  first  choice  of  the  fair, 
To  all  but  himself  very  gentle! 

And  Ashridge's  lord  ^ 

Most  insufferably  bored 
With  manners  and  modes  Oriental. 

The  Shah,  I  would  bet. 

In  the  East  never  met 
Such  a  couple  as  him  and  his  consort.® 

If  the  HoRNERS^  you  add, 

That  a  man  must  be  mad 
Who  complains  that  the  Gang  is  a  wrong  sort. 

From  kindred  essay 

Lady  Mary^^  to-day 
Should  have  beamed  on  a  world  that  adores  her. 

Of  her  spouse^^  debonair 

No  woman  has  e'er 
Been  able  to  say  that  he  bores  her. 

Next  BiNGY  ^^  escorts 
His  dear  wife,^^  to  our  thoughts 
Never  lost,  though  withdrawn  from  our  vision, 

•Earl  and  Countess  of  Pembroke. 

'Hon.  Evan  Charter'ijs. 

•Earl  and  Countess  Brownlow. 

•Sir  J.  and  Lady  Horner. 

"•Lord  and  Lady  Elcho  (now  Earl  and  Countess  of  Wemyss). 

"Lord  and  Lady  Wenlock. 

[19] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

While  of  late  she  has  shown 
That  of  spirit  alone 
Was  not  fashioned  that  fair  composition. 

No,  if  humour  we  count, 

The  original  fount 
Must  to  Hugo  be  ceded  in  freehold, 

Tho'  of  equal  supplies 

In  more  subtle  disguise 
Old  Godfrey^ ^  has  far  from  a  wee  hold! 

Mrs.  Eddy  ^^  has  come 

And  we  all  shall  be  dumb 
When  we  hear  what  a  lovely  voice  Emmy's  is; 

Spencer,^^  too,  would  show  what 

He  can  do,  were  it  not 
For  that  cursed  laryngeal  Nemesis, 

At  no  distance  away 

Behold  Alan^^  display 
That  smile  that  is  found  so  upsetting; 

And  Edgar^^  in  bower, 

In  statecraft,  in  power, 
The  favom-ite  first  in  the  betting. 

Here  a  trio  we  meet, 
Whom  you  never  will  beat, 
Tho'  wide  you  may  wander  and  far  go; 
From  what  wonderful  art 

^Mr.  Godfrey  Webb. 

"The  Hon.  Mrs.  E.  Bourke. 

"The  Hon.  Spencer  Lyttelton. 

"The  Hon.  Alan  Charteris. 

"  Sir  E.  Vincent  (now  Lord  D'Abemon). 

[20] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Of  that  Gallant  Old  Bart., 
Sprang  Charty  and  Lucy  and  M argot? 

To  LucY^'  he  gave 

The  wiles  that  enslave, 
Heart  and  tongue  of  an  angel  to  Charty^*; 

To  Margot'^  the  wit 

And  the  wielding  of  it. 
That  make  her  the  joy  of  a  party. 

Lord  Tommy^^  is  proud 

That  to  Charty  he  vowed 
The  graces  and  gifts  of  a  true  man. 

And  proud  are  the  friends 

Of  Alfred,^^  who  blends 
The  athlete,  the  hero,  the  woman! 

From  the  Gosford  preserves 

Old  St.  John^^  deserves 
Great  praise  for  a  bag  such  as  Hilda^^  ; 

True  worth  she  esteemed, 

Overpowering  he  deemed 
The  subtle  enchantment  that  filled  her. 

Very  dear  are  the  pair. 
He  so  strong,  she  so  fair, 
Renowned  as  the  Taplovite  Winnies; 
Ah!  he  roamed  far  and  wide, 

"Mrs.  Graham   Smith. 
"Lady  Ribblesdale. 
'•Mrs.  Asquith. 
'"Lord  Ribblesdale. 
"The  Hon.  Alfred  Lyttelton. 

"The  Hon.  St.  John  Brodrick  (now  Earl  of  Midleton)  and  Lady 
Hilda   Brodrick. 

[21] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Till  in  Etty^^  he  spied 
A  treasure  more  golden  than  guineas. 

Here  is  Doll^'*  who  has  taught 

Us  that  "words  conceal  thought" 
In  his  case  is  a  fallacy  silly; 

Harry  Cust^''  could  display 

Scalps  as  many,  I  lay, 
From  Paris  as  in  Piccadilly. 

But  some  there  were  too — 

Thank  the  Lord  they  were  few! 
Who  were  bidden  to  come  and  who  could  not : 

Was  there  one  of  the  lot, 

Ah!  I  hope  there  was  not, 
Looked  askance  at  the  bidding  and  would  not. 

The  brave  Little  Earl^^ 

Is  away,  and  his  pearl- 
Laden  spouse,  the  imperial  Gladys^^; 

By  that  odious  gout 

Is  Lord  Cowper^"^  knocked  out. 
And  the  wife^^  who  his  comfort  and  aid  is. 

Miss  Betty's  engaged, 
And  we  all  are  enraged 
That  the  illness  of  Sibell's^^  not  over; 
George  Wyndham^^  can't  sit 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willy  GrenfeU  (now  Lord  and  Lady  Desborough). 
^*Mr.  A.  G.  Liddell.  w 

''Mr.  Harry  Cust.  '« 

^'Earl  and  Countess  de  Grey.  9 

'''  Earl  and  Countess  Cowper.  ' 

-'Countess  Grosvenor. 

'"The  late  Right  Hon.  George  Wyndham. 

[22] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

A.t  our  banquet  of  wit, 
Because  he  is  standing  at  Dover. 

But  we  ill  can  afford 

To  dispense  with  the  Lord 
Of  Waddesdon^^  and  ill  Harry  Chaplin^^; 

Were  he  here,  we  might  shout 

As  again  he  rushed  out 
From  the  back  of  that  "d — d  big  sapling." 

We  have  lost  Lady  Gay^^ 

'Tis  a  price  hard  to  pay 
For  that  Shah  and  his  appetite  greedy; 

And  alas!  we  have  lost — 

At  what  ruinous  cost! — 
The  charms  of  the  brilliant  Miss  D.D.^* 

But  we've  got  in  their  place. 

For  a  gift  of  true  grace, 
Virginia's  marvellous  daughter.^* 

Having  conquered  the  States, 

She's  been  blown  by  the  Fates 
To  conquer  us  over  the  water. 

Now  this  is  the  sum 

Of  all  those  who  have  come 
Or  ought  to  have  come  to  that  banquet. 

Then  call  for  the  bowl. 

Flow  spirit  and  soul. 
Till  midnight  not  one  of  you  can  quit ! 

"  Baron  Ferdinand  de  Rothschild. 

"  Now  Viscount  Chaplin. 

•*Lady  Windsor  (now  Marchioness  of  Plymouth). 

•Miss  E.  Balfour  (Widow  of  the  Hon.  Alfred  Lyttelton). 

"•Mrs.  Chanler,  the  American  noveiliBt  (now  Princess  Troubetzkoy). 

[23] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

And  blest  by  the  Gang 

Be  the  Rhymester  who  sang 
Their  praises  in  doggrel  appalling; 

More  now  were  a  sin — 

Ho,  waiters,  begin! 
Each  soul  for  consomme  is  calling! 


For  my  own  and  the  children's  interest  I  shall' 
try,  however  imperfectly,  to  make  a  descriptive 
inventory  of  some  of  the  Souls  mentioned  in  this 
poem  and  of  some  of  my  friends  who  were  not. 

Gladstone's  secretary.  Sir  Algernon  West,*  and 
Godfrey  Webb  had  both  loved  Laura  and  corre- 
sponded with  her  till  she  died  and  they  spent  all 
their  holidays  at  Glen.  I  never  remember  the 
time  when  Algy  West  was  not  getting  old  and 
did  not  say  he  wanted  to  die;  but,  although  he  is 
ninety,  he  is  still  young,  good-looking  and — what 
is  even  more  remarkable — a  strong  Liberal.  He 
was  never  one  of  the  Souls,  but  he  was  a  faithful 
and  loving  early  friend  of  ours. 

Mr.  Godfrey  Webb  was  the  doyen  of  the  Souls. 
He  was  as  intimate  with  my  brothers  and  parents 
as  he  was  with  my  sisters  and  self.  Godfrey — 
or  Webber  as  some  called  him — was  not  only  a  man 

*The  Right  Hon.  Sir  Algernon  West. 

[24] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

of  parts,  but  had  a  peculiar  flavour  of  his  own: 
he  had  the  sense  of  humour  and  observation  of  a 
memoirist  and  his  wit  healed  more  than  it  cut.  For 
hours  together  he  would  poke  about  the  country 
with  a  dog,  a  gun  and  a  cigar,  perfectly  indepen- 
dent and  self-sufficing,  whether  engaged  in  sport, 
repartee,  or  literature.  He  wrote  and  published 
for  private  circulation  a  small  book  of  poems  and 
made  the  Souls  famous  by  his  proficiency  at  all  our 
pencil-games.  It  would  be  unwise  to  quote  verses 
or  epigrams  that  depend  so  much  upon  the  occasion 
id  the  environment.  Only  a  George  Meredith 
m  sustain  a  preface  boasting  of  his  heroine's  wit 
iroughout  the  book,  but  I  will  risk  one  example 
Godfrey  Webb's  quickness.  He  took  up  a  news- 
iper  one  morning  in  the  dining-room  at  Glen 
[nd,  reading  that  a  Mr.  Pickering  Phipps  had 
)roken  his  leg  on  rising  from  his  knees  at  prayer, 
he  immediately  wrote  this  couplet: 

On  bended  knees,  with  fervent  lips, 
Wrestled  with  Satan  Pickering  Phipps, 
But  when  for  aid  he  ceased  to  beg. 
The  wily  devil  broke  his  leg! 

He  spent  every  holiday  with  us  and  I  do  not 
think  he  ever  missed  being  with  us  on  the  anniver- 

[25] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

sary  of  Laura*s  death,  whether  I  was  at  home  or 

abroad.    He  was  a  man  in  a  million,  the  last  of  the 

wits,  and  I  miss  him  every  day  of  my  life. 
•  •••••• 

Lord  Midleton* — better  known  as  St.  John 
Brodrick — was  my  first  friend  of  interest;  I  knew 
him  two  years  before  I  met  Arthur  Balfour  or 
any  of  the  Souls.  He  came  over  to  Glen  while  he 
was  staying  with  neighbours  of  ours. 

I  wired  to  him  not  long  ago  to  congratulate  him 
on  being  made  an  Earl  and  asked  him  in  what  year 
it  was  that  he  first  came  to  Glen;  this  is  his  answer: 

Jan.  12th,  1920. 
Dearest  Margot, 

I  valued  your  telegram  of  congratulation  the 
more  that  I  know  you  and  Henry  (who  has  given 
so  many  and  refused  all)  attach  little  value  to 
titular  distinctions.  Indeed,  it  is  the  only  truly 
democratic  trait  about  you^  except  a  general  love 
of  H'  manity,  which  has  always  put  you  on  the 
side  of  the  feeble.  I  am  relieved  to  hear  you  have 
chosen  such  a  reliable  man  as  Crewe — ^with  his 
literary  gifts — to  be  the  only  person  to  read  your 
autobiography. 

My  visit  to   Glen  in  R y's  company   was 

October,  1880,  when  you  were  sixteen.     You  and 
Laura  flashed  like  meteors  on  to  a  dreary  scene  of 

*The    Right    Hon.    the    Earl    of    Midleton,    of    Peper,    Harow, 
Godalming.  ^ 

[26] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

empty  seats  at  the  luncheon  table  (the  shooting 
party  didn't  come  in)  and  filled  the  room  with  light, 

electrified  the  conversation  and  made  old  R ^y 

falter  over  his  marriage  vows  within  ten  minutes. 
From  then  onwards,  you  have  always  been  the  most 
loyal  and  indulgent  of  friends,  forgetting  no  one  as 
you  rapidly  climbed  to  fame,  and  were  raffled  for 
by  all  parties — from  Sandringham  to  the  crossing- 
sweeper. 

Your  early  years  will  sell  the  book. 

Bless  you. 

I  St.  John. 

St.  John  Midleton  was  one  of  the  rare  people 
10  tell  the  truth.  Some  people  do  not  lie,  but  have 
truth  to  tell;  others  are  too  agreeable — or  too 
ghtened — and  lie;  but  the  majority  are  indiffer- 
ent ;  they  are  the  spectators  of  life  and  feel  no 
responsibility  either  towards  themselves  or  their 
neighbour. 

He  was  fundamentally  humble,  truthful  and  one 
of  the  few  people  I  know  who  are  truly  loyal  and 
who  would  risk  telling  me,  or  any  one  he  loved, 
before  confiding  to  an  inner  circle  faults  which 
both  he  and  I  think  might  be  corrected.  I  have 
had  a  long  experience  of  inner  circles  and  am 
constantly  reminded  of  the  Spanish  proverb, 
"Remember  your  friend  has  a  friend."    I  think  you 

[27] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

should  either  leave  the  room  when  those  you  love 
are  abused  or  be  prepared  to  warn  them  of  what 
people  are  thinking.  This  is,  as  I  know  to  my  cost, 
an  unpopular  view  of  friendship,  but  neither  St. 
John  nor  I  would  think  it  loyal  to  join  in  the 
laughter  or  censure  of  a  friend's  folly. 

Arthur  Balfour  himself — the  most  persistent  of 
friends — remarked  laughingly: 

"St.  John  pursues  us  with  his  malignant 
fidelity."  * 

This  was  only  a  coloured  way  of  saying  that 
Midleton  had  none  of  the  detachment  commonly 
found  among  friends;  but,  as  long  as  we  are  not 
merely  responsible  for  our  actions  to  the  police,  so 
long  must  I  believe  in  trying  to  help  those  we  love. 

St.  John  has  the  same  high  spirits  and  keenness 
now  that  he  had  then  and  the  same  sweetness  and 
simplicity.  There  are  only  a  few  women  whose 
friendships  have  remained  as  loving  and  true  to  me 
since  my  girlhood  as  his — Lady  Horner,  Miss 
Tomlinson,t  Lady  Desborough,  Mrs,  Montgom- 
ery, Lady  Wemyss  and  Lady  BridgesJ — but  ever 
since  we  met  in  1880  he  has  taken  an  interest  in 

*  The  word  malignity  was  obviously  used  in  the  sense  of  the  French 
malin. 
+  Miss  May  Tomlinson,  of  Rye. 
i  Lady  Bridges,  wife  of  General  Sir  Tom  Bridges. 

[28] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

me  and  all  that  concerns  me.  He  was  much 
maligned  when  he  was  Secretary  of  State  for  War 
and  bore  it  without  blame  or  bitterness.  He  had 
infinite  patience,  intrepid  courage  and  a  high  sense 
of  duty ;  these  combined  to  give  him  a  better  place 
in  the  hearts  of  men  than  in  the  fame  of  newspapers. 
His  first  marriage  was  into  a  family  who  were 
incapable  of  appreciating  his  particular  quality  and 
flavour;  even  his  mother-in-law — a  dear  friend  of 
mine — never  understood  him  and  was  amazed  when 
I  told  her  that  her  son-in-law  was  worth  all  of  her 
children  put  together,  because  he  had  more  nature 
and  more  enterprise.    I  have  tested  St.  John  now 

fr  many  years  and  never  found  him  wanting. 
Lord  Pembroke*  and  George  Wyndham  were 
the  handsomest  of  the  Souls.  Pembroke  was  the 
son  of  Sidney  Herbert,  famous  as  Secretary  of 
State  for  War  during  the  Crimea.  I  met  him 
first  the  year  before  I  came  out.  Lord  Kitchener's 
friend,  Lady  Waterford — sister  to  the  present 
Duke  of  Beaufort — wrote  to  my  mother  asking  if 
Laura  could  dine  with  her,  as  she  had  been  thrown 
over   at   the   last  minute   and   wanted   a  young 

*  George,  13th  Earl  of  Pembroke. 

[20] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

woman.  As  my  sister  was  in  the  country,  my 
mother  sent  me.  I  sat  next  to  Arthur  Balfour; 
Lord  Pembroke  was  on  the  other  side,  round  the 
corner  of  the  table;  and  I  remember  being  intoxi- 
cated with  my  own  conversation  and  the  manner 
in  which  I  succeeded  in  making  Balfour  and  Pem- 
broke join  in.  I  had  no  idea  who  the  splendid 
stranger  was.  He  told  me  several  years  later  that 
he  had  sent  round  a  note  in  the  middle  of  that  din- 
ner to  Blanchie  Waterford,  asking  her  what  the 
name  of  the  girl  with  the  red  heels  was,  and  that,  , 
when  he  read  her  answer,  "Margot  Tennant,"  it ; 
conveyed  nothing  to  him.  This  occurred  in  1881 
and  was  for  me  an  eventful  evening.  Lord  Pem- 
broke was  one  of  the  four  best-looking  men  I  ever 
saw:  the  others,  as  I  have  already  said,  were  the 
late  Earl  of  Wemyss,  Mr.  Wilfrid  Blunt— whose 
memoirs  have  been  recently  published — and  Lord 
D'Abernon.*  He  was  six  foot  four,  but  his  face 
was  even  more  conspicuous  than  his  height.  There 
was  Russian  blood  in  the  Herbert  family  and  he 
was  the  eldest  brother  of  the  beautiful  Lady 
Ripon.  t     He  married   Lady   Gertrude    Talbot, 

*Our  Ambassador  in  Berlin. 

fThe  late  wife  of  the  present  Marquis  of  Ripon. 

[30] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

daughter  of  the  twentieth  Earl  of  Shrewsbury  and 
Talbot,  who  was  nearly  as  fine  to  look  at  as  he  him- 
self. He  told  me  among  other  things  at  that  dinner 
that  he  had  known  Disraeli  and  had  been  promised 
some  minor  post  in  his  government,  but  had  been 
too  ill  at  the  time  to  accept  it.  This  developed 
into  a  discussion  on  politics  and  Peeblesshire,  lead- 
ing up  to  our  county  neighbours ;  he  asked  me  if  I 
knew  Lord  Elcho,*  of  whose  beauty  Ruskin  had 
written,  and  who  owned  property  in  my  county. 

"Elcho,"  said  he,  "always  expected  to  be  invited 
to  join  the  government,  but  I  said  to  Dizzy,  *Elcho 
is  an  impossible  politician ;  he  has  never  understood 
the  meaning  of  party  government  and  looks  upon 
it  as  dishonest  for  even  three  people  to  attempt  to 
modify  their  opinions  sufficiently  to  come  to  an 
agreement,  leave  alone  a  Cabinet!  He  is  an 
egotist!'  To  which  Disraeli  replied,  *  Worse  than 
that!    He  is  an  Elchoist!'  " 

Although  Lord  Pembroke's  views  on  all  subjects 
were  remarkably  wide — as  shown  by  the  book  he 
published  called  Roots — ^he  was  a  Conservative. 
We  formed  a  deep  friendship  and  wrote  to  one 

*The  father  of  the  present  Earl  of  Wemyss  and  March. 

[31] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

another  till  he  died  a  few  years  after  my  marriage. 
In  one  of  his  letters  to  me  he  added  this  postscript: 

Keep  the  outer  borders  of  your  heart's  sweet 
garden  free  from  garish  flowers  and  wild  and  care- 
less weeds,  so  that  when  your  fairy  godmother 
turns  the  Prince's  footsteps  your  way  he  may  not, 
distrusting  your  nature  or  his  own  powers,  and 
only  half-guessing  at  the  treasure  within,  tear  him- 
self reluctantly  away,  and  pass  sadly  on,  without 
perhaps  your  ever  knowing  that  he  had  been  near. 

This,  I  imagine,  gave  a  correct  impression  of  me 
as  I  appeared  to  some  people.  "Garish  flowers" 
and  "wild  and  careless  weeds"  describe  my  lack  of 
pruning;  but  I  am  glad  George  Pembroke  put 
them  on  the  "outer,"  not  the  inner,  borders  of  my 
heart. 

In  the  tenth  verse  of  Curzon's  poem,  allusion  is 
made  to  Lady  Pembroke's  conversation,  which 
though  not  consciously  pretentious,  provoked  con- 
siderable merriment.  She  "stumbled  upwards  into 
vacuity,"  to  quote  my  dear  friend  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh. 

There  is  no  one  left  to-day  at  all  like  George 
Pembroke.    His  combination  of  intellectual  tem- 
perament, gregariousness,  variety  of  tastes — yacht- 
ing, art,  sport  and  literature — his  beauty  of  person 
[82] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  hospitality  to  foreigners  made  him  the  dis- 
tinguished centre  of  any  company.  His  first 
present  to  me  was  Butcher  and  Lang's  translation 
of  the  Odyssey  J  in  which  he  wrote  on  the  fly-leaf, 
"To  Margot,  who  most  reminds  me  of  Homeric 
days,  1884,"  and  his  last  was  his  wedding  present, 
a  diamond  dagger,  which  I  always  wear  close  to 

my  heart. 

•        •         •        •        •        • 

Among  the  Souls,  Milly  Sutherland,  ^  Lady 
Windsor^  and  Lady  Granby^  were  the  women 
whose  looks  I  admired  most.  Lady  Brownlow,  ^ 
mentioned  in  verse  eleven,  was  Lady  Pembroke's 
handsome  sister  and  a  famous  Victorian  beauty. 
Lady  Granby — the  Violet  of  verse  nine,  Gladys 
Ripon^  and  Lady  Windsor  (alluded  to  as  Lady 

ray  in  verse  twenty-eight),  were  all  women  of 
•esting  appearance:  Lady  Brownlow,  a  Roman 

^in;   Violet   Rutland,    a   Burne- Jones   Medusa; 

Hadys  Ripon,  a  court  lady;  Gay  Windsor,  an 
Italian  Primitive  and  Milly  Sutherland,  a  Scotch 
ballad.  Betty  Montgomery  was  a  brilliant  girl  and 

*The  Dowager  Duchess  of  Sutherland. 

'The  present  Countess  of  Plymouth. 

'The  present  Duchess  of  Rutland. 

*  Countess  Brownlow,  who  died  a  few  years  ago. 

"My  friend  Lady  de  Grey. 

[83] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

the  only  unmarried  woman,  except  Mrs.  Lyttelton,] 
among  us.     She  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  1 
Ponsonby,  Queen  Victoria's  famous  private  secre- 
tary, and  one  of  the  strongest  Liberals  I  ever  met. 
Her  sister  Maggie,  though  socially  uncouth,  had  a  \ 
touch  of  her  father's  genius;  she  said  of  a  court ^ 
prelate  to  me  one  day  at  Windsor  Castle: 

"There  goes  God's  butler!" 

It  was  through  Betty  and  Maggie  Ponsonby  that] 
I  first  met  my  beloved  friend,  Lady  Desborough. 
Though  not  as  good-looking  as  the  beauties  I  have 
catalogued,  nor  more  intellectual  than  Lady  Hor- 
ner or  Lady  Wemyss,  Lady  Desborough  was  the 
cleverest  of  us.  Her  flavour  was  more  delicate, 
her  social  sensibility  finer ;  and  she  added  to  chronic 
presence  of  mind  undisguised  effrontery.  I  do  not 
suppose  she  was  ever  unconscious  in  her*  life,  but 
she  had  no  self-pity  and  no  egotism.  She  was  not 
an  artist  in  any  way:  music,  singing,  flowers,  paint- 
ing and  colour  left  her  cold.  She  was  not  a  game- 
player  nor  was  she  sporting  and  she  never  invested 
in  parlour  tricks;  yet  she  created  more  fun  for 
other  people  than  anybody.  She  was  a  woman  of 
genius,  who,  if  subtly  and  accurately  described, 
either  in  her  mode  of  life,  her  charm,  wits  or  char- 
[34] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

acter,  would  have  made  the  fortune  of  any  novelist. 
To  an  outsider  she  might — like  all  over-agreeable 
femmes  dm,  monde — give  an  impression  of  light 
metal,  but  this  would  be  misleading.  Etty  Des- 
borough  was  fundamentally  sound,  and  the  truest 
friend  that  ever  lived.  Possessed  of  social  and 
moral  sang-froid  of  a  high  order,  she  was  too  ele- 
gant to  fall  into  the  trap  of  the  candid  friend,  but 
nevertheless  she  could,  when  asked,  give  both  coun- 
sel and  judgment  with  the  sympathy  of  a  man  and 
■  the  wisdom  of  a  god.  She  was  the  first  person  that 
1 1  sought  and  that  I  would  still  seek  if  I  were  un- 
happy, because  her  genius  lay  in  a  penetrating 
understanding  of  the  human  heart  and  a  determina- 
tion to  redress  the  balance  of  life's  unhappiness. 
Etty  and  I  attracted  the  same  people.  She  married 
Willy  Grenfell,*  a  man  to  whom  I  was  much 
attached  and  a  British  gladiator  capable  of  chal- 
lenging the  world  in  boating  and  boxing. 

Of  their  soldier  sons,  Julian  and  Billy,  I  cannot 
write.  They  and  their  friends,  Edward  Horner, 
Charles  Lister  and  Raymond  Asquith  all  fell  in 
the  war.    They  haunt  my  heart;  I  can  see  them  in 

•Lord  Desborough  of  Taplow  Court. 

[35] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

front  of  me  now,  eternal  sentinels  of  youth  and] 
manliness. 

In  spite  of  a  voracious  appetite  for  enjoyment 
and  an  expert  capacity  in  entertaining,  Etty  Des- 
borough  was  perfectly  happy  either  alone  with  hei 
family  or  alone  with  her  books  and  could  endure, 
with  enviable  patience,  cold  ugly  country-seats  anc 
fashionable  people.  I  said  of  her  when  I  first  knei 
her  that  she  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  days  of  the 
great  King's  mistresses.  I  would  have  gone  to  her 
if  I  were  sad,  but  never  if  I  were  guilty.  Most  of 
us  have  asked  ourselves  at  one  time  or  another 
whom  we  would  go  to  if  we  had  done  a  wicked 
thing;  and  the  interesting  part  of  this  question  is 
that  in  the  answer  you  will  get  the  best  possible  in- 
dication of  human  nature.  Many  have  said  to  me, 
"I  would  go  to  So-and-so,  because  they  would  un- 
derstand my  temptation  and  make  allowances  for 
me";  but  the  majority  would  choose  the  confidante 
most  competent  to  point  to  the  way  of  escape. 
Etty  Desborough  would  be  that  confidante. 

She  had  neither  father  nor  mother,  but  was 

brought  up  by  two  prominent  and  distinguished 

members  of  the  Souls,  my  life-long  and  beloved 

friends,  Lord  and  Lady  Cowper  of  Panshanger, 

[36] 


i\ 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

now,  alas,  both  dead.    Etty  had  eternal  youth  and 

was  alive  to  everything  in  life  except  its  irony. 

If  for  health  or  for  any  other  reason  I  had  been 

separated  from  my  children  when  they  were  young, 

I  would  as  soon  have  confided  them  to  the  love 

of  Etty  and  Willy  Desborough  as  to  any  of  my 

friends. 

•  •••••« 

To  illustrate  the  jealousy  and  friction  which  the 
Souls  caused,  I  must  relate  a  conversational  scrap 
I  had  at  this  time  with  Lady  Londonderry,*  which 
caused  some  talk  among  our  critics. 

She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  a  little  before  my 
day,  happy,  courageous  and  violent,  with  a  mind 
which  clung  firmly  to  the  obvious.  Though  her 
nature  was  impulsive  and  kind,  she  was  not  for- 
giving.   One  day  she  said  to  me  with  pride: 

"I  am  a  good  friend  and  a  bad  enemy.  No  kiss- 
and-make-friends  about  me,  my  dear!" 

I  have  often  wondered  since,  as  I  did  then,  what 
the  difference  between  a  good  and  a  bad  enemy  is. 

She  was  not  so  well  endowed  intellectually  as  her 
rival  Lady  de  Grey,  but  she  had  a  stronger  will 
and  w^as  of  sounder  temperament. 

There  was  nothing  wistful,  reflective  or  retiring 

*The  late  Marchioness  of  Londonderry. 

[37] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

about  Lady  Londonderry.     She   was  keen  an( 
vivid,  but  crude  and  impenitent. 

We  were  accused  entre  mitres  of  being  conceitec 
and  of  talking  about  books  which  we  had  not  read,  J 
a  habit  which  I  have  never  had  the  temerity  to  ac-j 
quire.  John  Addington  Symonds — an  intimatej 
friend  of  mine — ^had  brought  out  a  book  of  essays,] 
which  were  not  very  good  and  caused  no  sensationJ 

One  night,  after  dinner,  I  was  sitting  in  a  circlej 
of  fashionable  men  and  women — ^none  of  them  par- 
ticularly intimate  with  me — ^when  Lady  London- 
derry opened  the  talk  about  books.  Hardly  know- 
ing her,  I  entered  with  an  innocent  zest  into  the 
conversation.  I  was  taken  in  by  her  mention  of 
Symonds'  Studies  in  Italy,  and  thought  she  must 
be  literary.  Launching  out  upon  style,  I  said  there: 
was  a  good  deal  of  rubbish  written  about  it,  but  iti 
was  essential  that  people  should  write  simply.  At 
this  some  one  twitted  me  with  our  pencil-game  of 
"Styles"  and  asked  me  if  I  thought  I  should  know 
the  author  from  hearing  a  casual  passage  read  out 
aloud  from  one  of  their  books.  I  said  that  some 
writers  would  be  easy  to  recognise — such  as  Mere- 
dith, Carlyle,  De  Quincey  or  Browning — but  that 
when  it  came  to  others— men  like  Scott  or  Froude, 
[38] 


I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

for  instance — I  should  not  be  so  sure  of  myself.  At 
this  there  was  an  outcry:  Froude,  having  the  finest 
style  in  the  world,  ought  surely  to  be  easily  recog- 
nised! I  was  quite  ready  to  believe  that  some  of 
the  company  had  made  a  complete  study  of 
Froude's  style,  but  I  had  not.  I  said  that  I  could 
not  be  sure,  because  his  writing  was  too  smooth 
and  perfect,  and  that,  when  I  read  him,  I  felt 
as  if  I  was  swallowing  arrow-root.  This  shocked 
ithem  profoundly  and  I  added  that,  unless  I  were 
to  stumble  across  a  horseman  coming  over  a  hill, 
or  something  equally  fascinating,  I  should  not 
even  be  sure  of  recognising  Scott's  style.  This  scan- 
dalised the  company.  Lady  Londonderry  then 
asked  me  if  I  admired  Symonds'  writing.  I  told 
her  I  did  not,  although  I  liked  some  of  his  books. 
She  seemed  to  think  that  this  was  a  piece  of  swagger 
on  my  part  and,  after  disagreeing  with  a  lofty 
shake  of  her  head,  said  in  a  challenging  manner: 

"I  should  be  curious  to  know.  Miss  Tennant, 
what  you  have  read  by  Symonds!" 

Feeling  I  was  being  taken  3n,  I  replied  rather 
chillily: 

"Oh,  the  usual  sort  of  thir  ^1" 

Lady  Londonderry,  visibly  irritated  and  with 

[39] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

the  confident  air  of  one  who  has  a  little  surprise  in 
store  for  the  company,  said: 

"Have  you  by  any  chance  looked  at  Essays,  Sug- 
gestive and  Speculative?" 

Mahgot:  "Yes,  I've  read  them  all." 

Lady  Londonderry:  "Really!  Do  you  not  ap- 
prove of  them?" 

Margot:  "Approve?  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean." 

Lady  Londonderry  :  "Do  you  not  think  the  writ- 
ing beautiful  .    .    .  the  style,  I  mean?" 

Margot:  "I  think  they  are  all  very  bad,  but  then 
I  don't  admire  Symonds'  style." 

Lady  Londonderry:  "I  am  afraid  you  have  not 
read  the  book." 

This  annoyed  me;  I  saw  the  company  were  en- 
chanted with  their  spokeswoman,  but  I  thought  it 
unnecessarily  rude  and  more  than  foolish. 

I  looked  at  her  calmly  and  said: 

"I  am  afraid.  Lady  Londonderry,  you  have  not 
read  the  preface.  The  book  is  dedicated  to  me. 
Symonds  was  a  friend  of  mine  and  I  was  staying  at 
Davos  at  the  time  he  was  writing  those  essays. 
He  was  rash  enough  to  ask  me  to  read  one  of  them 
in  manuscript  and  write  whatever  I  thought  upon 
[40] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  margin.  This  I  did,  but  he  was  offended  by 
something  I  scribbled.  I  was  so  surprised  at  his 
minding  that  I  told  him  he  was  never  to  show  me 
any  of  his  unpublished  work  again,  at  which  te? 
forgave  me  and  dedicated  the  book  to  me." 

After  this  flutter  I  was  not  taken  on  by  fashion- 
able ladies  about  books. 

•  •••••• 

Lady  Londonderry  never  belonged  to  the  Souls, 
but  her  antagonist.  Lady  de  Grey,  was  one  of  its 
chief  ornaments  and  my  friend.  She  was  a  luxu- 
rious woman  of  great  beauty,  with  perfect  manners 
and  a  moderate  sense  of  duty.  She  was  the  last  word 
in  refinement,  perception  and  charm.  There  was 
something  septic  in  her  nature  and  I  heard  her  say 
one  day  that  the  sound  of  the  cuckoo  made  her  feel 
ill;  but,  although  she  was  not  lazy  and  seldom  idle, 
she  never  developed  her  intellectual  powers  or  sus- 
tained herself  by  reading  or  study  of  any  kind.  She 
had  not  the  smallest  sense  of  proportion  and,  if  any- 
thing went  wrong  in  her  entertainments — cold 
plates,  a  flat  souffle^  or  some  one  throwing  her  over 
for  dinner — she  became  almost  impotent  from  agi- 
tation, only  excusable  if  it  had  been  some  great 
public  disaster.  She  and  Mr.  Harry  Higgins — an 

[41] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


ne  j 


exceptionally  clever  and  devoted  friend  of  mine 
having  revived  the  opera,  Bohemian  society  became 
her  hobby;  but  a  tenor  in  the  country  or  a  dancer 
on  the  lawn  are  not  really  wanted;  and,  although 
she  spent  endless  time  at  Covent  Garden  and 
achieved  considerable  success,  restlessness  devoured 
her.  While  receiving  the  adoration  of  a  small  but 
influential  circle,  she  appeared  to  me  to  have  tried 
everything  to  no  purpose  and,  in  spite  of  an  exper- 
ience which  queens  and  actresses,  professionals  and 
amateurs  might  well  have  envied,  she  remained 
embarrassed  by  herself,  fluid,  brilliant  and  uneasy. 
The  personal  nobility  with  which  she  worked  her 
hospital  in  the  Great  War  years  brought  her  peace. 

Frances  Horner*  was  more  like  a  sister  to  me 
than  any  one  outside  my  own  family.  I  met  her 
when  she  was  Miss  Graham  and  I  was  fourteen. 
She  was  a  leader  in  what  was  called  the  high  art 
William  Morris  School  and  one  of  the  few  girls 
who  ever  had  a  salon  in  London. 

I  was  deeply  impressed  by  her  appearance,  it 
was  the  fashion  of  the  day  to  wear  the  autumn 
desert  in  your  hair  and  "soft  shades"  of  Liberty 
velveteen ;  but  it  was  neither  the  unusualness  of  her 

*Lady  Horner,  of  Mells,  Frome. 

[42] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

clothes  nor  the  sight  of  Burne- Jones  at  her  feet 
and  Buskin  at  her  elbow  that  struck  me  most,  but 
what  Charty's  little  boy,  Tommy  Lister,  called  her 
"ghost  eyes"  and  the  nobility  of  her  countenance. 

There  may  be  women  as  well  endowed  with  heart, 
head,  temper  and  temperament  as  Frances  Homer, 
but  I  have  only  met  a  few:  Lady  de  Vesci  (whose 
niece,  Cynthia,  married  our  poet-son,  Herbert), 
Lady  Betty  Balfour*  and  my  daughter  Elizabeth. 
With  most  women  the  impulse  to  crab  is  greater 
than  to  praise  and  grandeur  of  character  is  sur- 
prisingly lacking  in  them;  but  Lady  Horner  com- 
prises all  that  is  best  in  my  sex. 

Mary  Wemyss  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
of  the  Souls  and  was  as  wise  as  she  was  just,  truth- 
ful, tactful,  and  generous.  She  might  have  been  a 
great  influence,  as  indeed  she  was  always  a  grea.t 
pleasure,  but  she  was  both  physically  and  mentally 
badly  equipped  for  coping  with  life  and  spent  and 
wasted  more  time  than  was  justifiable  on  plans 
which  could  have  been  done  by  any  good  servant. 
It  would  not  have  mattered  the  endless  discussion 
whether  the  brougham  fetching  one  part  of  the  fam- 
ily from  one  station  and  a  bus  fetching  another  part 

♦Sister  of  the  Earl  of  Lytton  and  wife  of  Mr.  Gerald  Balfour. 

[43] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

of  it  from  another  interfered  with  a  guest  catching 
a  five  or  a  five-to-five  train — which  could  or  could 
not  be  stopped — if  one  could  have  been  quite  sure 
that  Mary  Wemyss  needed  her  friend  so  much 
that  another  opportunity  would  be  given  for  an 
intimate  interchange  of  confidences;  but  plan- 
weaving  blinds  people  to  a  true  sense  of  proportion 
and  my  beloved  Mary  never  had  enough  time  for 
any  of  us.  She  is  the  only  woman  I  know  or  have 
ever  known  without  smallness  or  touchiness  of  any  ; 
kind.  Her  ^liste  milieu,  if  a  trifle  becalmed, 
amounts  to  genius ;  and  I  was — and  still  am — ^more 
interested  in  her  moral,  social  and  intellectual  opin- 
ions than  in  most  of  my  friends'.  Some  years  ago 
I  wrote  this  in  my  diary  about  her: 

"Mary  is  generally  a  day  behind  the  fair  and  will 
only  hear  of  my  death  from  the  man  behind  the 
counter  who  is  struggling  to  clinch  her  over  a 
collar  for  her  chow." 


One  of  the  less  prominent  of  the  Souls  was  my 
friend,  Lionel  Tennyson.*  He  was  the  second  son 
of  the  poet  and  was  an  official  in  the  India  Office. 
He  had  an  untidy  appearance,  a  black  beard  and 

•Brother  of  the  present  Lord  TennysoiL 

[44]  "^ 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

no  manners.     He  sang  German  beer-songs  in  a 
lusty  voice  and  wrote  good  verses. 

He  sent  me  many  poems,  but  I  think  these  two 
are  the  best.  The  first  was  written  to  me  on  my 
twenty-first  birthday,  before  the  Souls  came  into 
existence : 

What  is  a  single  flower  when  the  world  is  white 

with  may? 
What  is  a  gift  to  one  so  rich,  a  smile  to  one  so  gay? 
What  is  a  thought  to  one  so  rich  in  the  loving 

thoughts  of  men? 
How  should  I  hope  because  I  sigh  that  you  will 

sigh  again? 

Yet  when  you  see  my  gift,  you  may 

I  (Ma  bayadere  aux  yeux  de  jais) 

Think  of  me  once  to-day. 
hink  of  me  as  you  will,  dear  girl,  if  you  will  let 
me  be 
Somewhere  enshrined  within  the  fane  of  your  pure 

memory ; 
Think  of  your  poet  as  of  one  who  only  thinks  of 
you, 
That  you  are  all  his  thought,  that  he  were  happy 
if  he  knew — 

You  did  receive  his  gift,  and  say 
(Ma  bayadere  aux  yeux  de  jais) 
*^He  thinks  of  me  to-day." 

[45] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

And  this  is  the  second: 

She  drew  me  from  my  cosy  seat, 
She  drew  me  to  her  cruel  feet, 
She  whispered,  "Call  me  Sally!" 
I  lived  upon  her  smile,  her  sigh, 
Alas,  you  fool,  I  knew  not  I 
Was  only  her  pis-aller. 

The  jade!  she  knew  her  business  well, 
She  made  each  hour  a  heaven  or  hell, 
For  she  could  coax  and  rally; 
She  was  so  loving,  frank  and  kind, 
That  no  suspicion  crost  my  mind 
That  I  was  her  pis-aller. 

My  brother  says  "I  told  you  so! 
Her  conduct  was  not  comme  il  faut. 
But  strictly  comme  il  fallait; 
She  swore  that  she  was  fond  and  true; 
No  doubt  she  was,  poor  girl,  but  you 
Were  only  her  pis-aller f* 

He  asked  me  what  I  would  like  him  to  give  me 
for  a  birthday  present,  and  I  said: 

"If  you  want  to  give  me  pleasure,  take  me  down 
to  your  father's  country  house  for  a  Saturday  to 
Monday." 

This  Lionel  arranged ;  and  he  and  I  went  down 
to  Aldworth,  Haslemere,  together  from  London. 
[46] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

While  we  were  talking  in  the  train,  a  distin- 
guished old  lady  got  in.  She  wore  an  ample  black 
satin  skirt,  small  black  satin  slippers  in  goloshes, 
a  sable  tippet  and  a  large,  picturesque  lace  bonnet. 
She  did  not  appear  to  be  listening  to  our  conver- 
sation, because  she  was  reading  with  an  air  of  con- 
centration; but,  on  looking  at  her,  I  observed  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  me.  I  wore  a  scarlet  cloak 
trimmed  with  cock's  feathers  and  a  black,  three- 
cornered  hat.  When  we  arrived  at  our  station, 
the  old  lady  tipped  a  porter  to  find  out  from  my 
luggage  who  I  was;  and  when  she  died — several 
years  later — she  left  me  in  her  will  one  of  my  most 
valuable  jewels.  This  was  Lady  Margaret  Beau- 
mont; and  I  made  both  her  acquaintance  and 
friendship  before  her  death. 

Lady  Tennyson  was  an  invalid;  and  we  were 
received  on  our  arrival  by  the  poet.  Tennyson 
was  a  magnificent  creature  to  look  at.  He  had 
everything:  height,  figure,  carriage,  features  and 
expression.  Added  to  this  he  had  what  George 
Meredith  said  of  him  to  me,  "the  feminine  hint  to 
perfection."     He  greeted  me  by  saying: 

"Well,  are  you  as  clever  and  spurty  as  your 
sister  Laura?" 

[47] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  had  never  heard  the  word  "spurty"  before,  nor 
indeed  have  I  since.  To  answer  this  kind  of  frontal 
attack  one  has  to  be  either  saucy  or  servile;  so  I 
said  nothing  memorable.  We  sat  down  to  tea  and 
he  asked  me  if  I  wanted  him  to  dress  for  dinner, 
adding: 

"Your  sister  said  of  me,  you  know,  that  I  was 
both  untidy  and  dirty." 

To  which  I  replied: 

"Did  you  mind  this?" 

Tennyson  :  "I  wondered  if  it  was  true.  Do  you 
think  I'm  dirty?" 

Margot:  "You  are  very  handsome." 

Tennyson  :  "I  can  see  by  that  remark  that  you 
think  I  am.  Very  well  then,  I  will  dress  for  dinner. 
Have  you  read  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle's  letters?" 

Margot:  "Yes,  I  have,  and  I  think  them  excel- 
lent. It  seems  a  pity,"  I  added,  with  the  common- 
place that  is  apt  to  overcome  one  in  a  first  conver- 
sation with  a  man  of  eminence,  "that  they  were  ever 
married;  with  any  one  but  each  other,  they  might 
have  been  perfectly  happy." 

Tennyson:  "I  totally  disagree  with  you.     By 

any  other  arrangement  four  people  would  have 

been  unhappy  instead  of  two." 

[48] 


LADY  DESBROUGH,   WHOM  MARGOT  CALLS  THE 
CLEVEREST  WOMAN  IX   ENGLAND 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

After  this  I  went  up  to  my  room.  The  hours  kept 
at  Aldworth  were  peculiar;  we  dined  early  and 
after  dinner  the  poet  went  to  bed.  At.  ten  o'clock 
he  came  downstairs  and,  if  asked,  would  read  his 
poetry  to  the  company  till  past  midnight. 

I  dressed  for  dinner  with  great  care  that  first 
night  and,  placing  myself  next  to  him  when  he  came 
down,  I  asked  him  to  read  out  loud  to  me. 

Tennyson:  "What  do  you  want  me  to  read?" 

Margot:  "Mavd,'' 

Tennyson:  "That  was  the  poem  I  was  cursed 
for  writing!  When  it  came  out  no  word  was  bad 
enough  for  me !  I  was  a  blackguard,  a  ruiBan  and 
an  atheist!  You  will  live  to  have  as  great  a  con- 
tempt for  literary  critics  and  the  public  as  I  have, 
my  child!" 

While  he  was  speaking,  I  found  on  the  floor, 
among  piles  of  books,  a  small  copy  of  Maud,  a 
shilling  volume,  bound  in  blue  paper.  I  put  it  into 
his  hands  and,  pulling 'the  lamp  nearer  him,  he 
began  to  read. 

There  is  only  one  man — a  poet  also — who  reads 
as  my  host  did;  and  that  is  my  beloved  friend, 
Professor  Gilbert  Murray.     When  I  first  heard 

[49] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

him  at  Oxford,  I  closed  my  eyes  and  felt  as  if  the 
old  poet  were  with  me  again. 

Tennyson's  reading  had  the  lilt,  the  tenderness 
and  the  rhythm  that  makes  music  in  the  soul.  It 
was  neither  singing,  nor  chanting,  nor  speaking, 
but  a  subtle  mixture  of  the  three;  and  the  effect 
upon  me  was  one  of  haunting  harmonies  that  left 
me  profoundly  moved. 

He  began,  "  Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden," 
and,  skipping  the  next  four  sections,  went  on  to, 
"  I  have  led  her  home,  my  love,  my  only  friend," 
and  ended  with : 

There  has  fallen  a  splendid  tear 

From  the  passion-flower  at  the  gate. 
She  is  coming,  my  dove,  my  dear. 

She  is  coming,  my  life,  my  fate; 
The  red  rose  cries,  "She  is  near,  she  is  near;" 

And  the  white  rose  weeps,  "She  is  late;" 
The  larkspur  hstens,  "I  hear,  I  hear;" 

And  the  lily  whispers,  "I  wait." 

She  is  coming,  my  own,  my  sweet ; 

Were  it  ever  so  airy  a  tread, 
My  heart  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Were  it  earth  in  an  earthly  bed; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  beat, 

Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead ; 
Would  start  and  tremble  under  her  feet. 

And  blossom  in  purple  and  red. 

[50] 


I 


«4  H^, 


^t 


*^imf}fr. 


^/h^ldut^s^  kiJl: kL  h\ h^Mhn^  f^^^' 


I 


LORD    TENNYSON'S    TRIBUTE    TO    SIR    WALTER    SCOTT 

[51] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

When  he  had  finished,  he  pulled  me  on  to  his 
knee  and  said: 

"Many  may  have  written  as  well  as  that,  but 
nothing  that  ever  sounded  so  well  I" 

I  could  not  speak. 

He  then  told  us  that  he  had  had  an  unfortunate 
experience  with  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  was 
reading  Maud. 

"She  was  sitting  on  my  knee,"  he  said,  "as  you 
are  doing  now,  and  after  reading, 


I 


Birds  in  the  high  Hall-garden 
When  twilight  was  falling, 
Maud,  Maud,  Maud,  Maud, 
They  were  crying  and  calling. 


I  asked  her  what  bird  she  thought  I  meant.  She 
said,  *A  nightingale.'  This  made  me  so  angry  that 
I  nearly  flung  her  to  the  ground:  *No,  fool!  .  .  . 
RookPsaidl." 

I  got  up,  feeling  rather  sorry  for  the  young 
lady,  but  was  so  afraid  he  was  going  to  stop 
reading  that  I  quickly  opened  The  Princess  and 
put  it  into  his  hands,  and  he  went  on. 

I  still  possess  the  little  Maud,  bound  in  its  blue 
paper  cover,  out  of  which  he  read  to  us,  with  my 
name  written  in  it  by  Tennyson. 

[53] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

The  morning  after  my  arrival  I  was  invited  by 
our  host  to  go  for  a  walk  with  him,  which  flattered 
me  very  much;  but  after  walking  at  a  great  pace 
over  rough  ground  for  two  hours  I  regretted  my 
vanity.  Except  my  brother  Glenconner  I  never 
met  such  an  easy  mover.  The  most  characteristic 
feature  left  on  my  mind  of  that  walk  was  Tenny- 
son's appreciation  of  other  poets. 

•  •••••• 

Writing  of  poets,  I  come  to  George  Wyndham.* 
It  would  be  superfluous  to  add  anything  to  what 
has  already  been  published  of  him,  but  he  was 
among  the  best-looking  and  most  lovable  of  my 
circle. 

He  was  a  young  man  of  nature  endowed  with 
even  greater  beauty  than  his  sister,  Lady  Glen- 
conner, but  with  less  of  her  literary  talent.  Al- 
though his  name  will  always  be  associated  with  the 
Irish  Land  Act,  he  was  more  interested  in  literature 
than  politics,  and,  with  a  httle  self-discipline,  might 
have  been  eminent  in  both. 

Mr.  Harry  Cust  is  the  last  of  the  Souls  that  I 
intend  writing  about  and  was  in  some  ways  the 
rarest  and  the  most  brilliant  of  them  all.    Some  one 

*The  late  Right  Hon.  George  Wyndham. 

[54] 


J 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

who  knew  him  well  wrote  truly  of  him  after  he  died: 

"He  tossed  off  the  cup  of  life  without  fear  of  it 
containing  any  poison,  but  like  many  wilful  men  he 
was  deficient  in  will-power." 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Harry  Cust  was  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  wheie  he  had  come  to  see  my 
sister  Laura.  A  few  weeks  later  I  found  her 
making  a  sachet,  which  was  an  unusual  occupation 
for  her,  and  she  told  me  if  was  for  "Mr.  Cust," 
who  was  going  to  Australia  for  his  health. 

He  remained  abroad  for  over  a  year  and,  on  the 
night  of  the  Jubilee,  1887,  he  walked  into  our  house 
where  we  were  having  supper.  He  had  just  re- 
turned from  Australia,  and  was  terribly  upset  to 
hear  that  Laura  was  dead. 

Harry  Cust  had  an  untiring  enthusiasm  for  life. 
At  Eton  he  had  been  captain  of  the  school  and  he 
was  a  scholar  of  Trinity.  He  had  as  fine  a  memory 
as  Professor  Churton  Collins  or  my  husband  and 
an  unplumbed  sea  of  knowledge,  quoting  with  equal 
ease  both  poetry  and  prose.  He  edited  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  brilliantly  for  several  years.  With 
his  youth,  brains  and  looks,  he  might  have  done 
anything  in  life;  but  he  was  fatally  self-indulgent 
and  success  with  my  sex  damaged  his  public  career. 

[55] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

He  was  a  fastidious  critic  and  a  faithful  friend, 
fearless,  reckless  and  unforgettable. 

He  wrote  one  poem,  which  appeared  anony- 
mously in  the  Oxford  Book  of  English  Verse: 

Not  unto  us,  O  Lord, 

Not  unto  us  the  rapture  of  the  day. 

The  peace  of  night,  or  love's  divine  surprise. 

High  heart,  high  speech,  high  deeds  'mid  honouring 

eyes; 
For  at  Thy  word 
All  these  are  taken  away. 

Not  unto  us,  O  Lord: 

To  us  Thou  givest  the  scorn,  the  scourge,  the  scar, 

The  ache  of  life,  the  loneliness  of  death. 

The  insufferable  sufficiency  of  breath ; 

And  with  Thy  sword 

Thou  piercest  very  far. 

Not  unto  us,  O  Lord : 

Nay,  Lord,  but  unto  her  be  all  things  given — 

My  light  and  life  and  earth  and  sky  be  blasted — 

But  let  not  all  that  wealth  of  love  be  wasted: 

Let  Hell  afford  j 

The  pavement  of  her  Heaven! 

I  print  also  a  letter  in  verse  sent  to  me  on  October 
20th,  1887: 

I  came  in  to-night,  made  as  woful  as  worry  can. 
Heart  like  a  turnip  and  head  like  a  hurricane, 

[56]  ; 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

When  lo !  on  my  dull  eyes  there  suddenly  leaped  a 
Bright  flash  of  your  writing,  du  Herzensgeliebte ; 
And  I  found  that  the  life  I  was  thinking  so  leavable 
Had  still  something  in  it  made  living  conceivable; 
And  that,  spite  of  the  sores  and  the  bores  and  the 

flaws  in  it. 
My  own  life's  the  better  for  small  bits  of  yours  in  it; 
And  it's  only  to  tell  you  just  that  that  I  write  to 

you, 
And  just  for  the  pleasure  of  saying  good  night  to 

you: 
For  I've  nothing  to  tell  you  and  nothing  to  talk 

about. 
Save  that  I  eat  and  I  sleep  and  I  walk  about. 
Since  three  days  past  does  the  indolent  I  bury 
Myself  in  the  British  Museum  Lib'ary, 
Trying  in  writing  to  get  in  my  hand  a  bit, 
And  reading  Dutch  books  that  I  don't  understand 

a  bit: 
But  to-day  Lady  Charty  and  sweet  Mrs.  Lucy  em- 
Broidered  the  dusk  of  the  British  Museum, 
And  made  me  so  happy  by  talking  and  laughing  on 
That  I  loved  them  more  than  the  frieze  of  the 

Parthenon. 
But  I'm  sleepy  I  know  and  don't  know  if  I  silly 

ain't ; 
Dined  to-night  with  your  sisters,  where  Tommy 

was  brilliant; 
And,  while  I  the  rest  of  the  company  deafened,  I 
j  Dallied  awhile  with  your  auntlet  of  seventy, 
I  While  one,  Mr.  Winsloe,  a  volume  before  him, 
Regarded  us  all  with  a  moody  decorum. 

[57] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

No,  I  can't  keep  awake,  and  so,  bowing  and  blessing 

you. 
And  seeing  and  loving  (while  slowly  undressing) 

you. 
Take  your  small  hand  and  kiss,  with  a  drowsed 

benediction,  it 
Knowing,  as  you,  I'm  your  ever  affectionate 

Harry  C.  C. 


I  had  another  friend,  James  Kenneth  Stephen, 
too  pagan,  wayward  and  lonely  to  be  available  foij 
the  Souls,  but  a  man  of  genius.  One  after- 
noon he  came  to  see  me  in  Grosvenor  Square  and, 
being  told  by  the  footman  that  I  was  riding  in  th( 
Row,  he  asked  for  tea  and,  while  waiting  for  me 
wrote  the  following  parody  of  Kipling  and  left  il 
on  my  writing-table  with  his  card: 

P.S.    The  Man  who  Wrote  It. 


We  all  called  him  The  Man  who  Wrote  It.  And 
we  called  It  what  the  man  wrote,  or  It  for  short — \ 
all  of  us  that  is,  except  The  Girl  who  Read  It.  She; 
never  called  anything  "It."  She  wasn't  that  sort 
of  girl,  but  she  read  It,  which  was  a  pity  from  the 
point  of  view  of  The  Man  who  Wrote  It. 

The  man  is  dead  now. 

Dropped  down  a  cud  out  beyond  Karachi,  and 
was  brought  home  more  Uke  broken  meat  in  a 
basket.    But  that's  another  story. 

[58] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

The  girl  read  It,  and  told  It,  and  forgot  all  about 
It,  and  in  a  week  It  was  all  over  the  station.  I 
heard  it  from  Old  Bill  Buffles  at  the  club  while  we 
were  smoking  between  a  peg  and  a  hot  weather 
dawn. 

J.  K.  S. 

I  was  delighted  with  this.  Another  time  he 
wrote  a  parody  of  Myers'  St.  Paul  for  me.  I  will 
only  quote  one  verse  out  of  the  eight: 

Lo!  what  the  deuce  I'm  always  saying  "Lo!"  for 
God  is  aware  and  leaves  me  uninformed. 
'  Lo !  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  go  for, 
Lo!  there  is  naught  inadequately  formed. 

He  ended  by  signing  his  name  and  writing: 

ISouvenez-vous  si  les  vers  que  je  trace 
Fussent  parfois  (jel'avoue!)  I'argot, 
Si  vous  trouvez  un  pen  trop  d'audace 
On  ose  tout  quand  on  se  dit 
"Margot." 

My  dear  friend  J.K.S.  was  responsible  for  the 
aspiration  frequently  quoted: 

When  the  Rudyards  cease  from  Kipling 
And  the  Haggards  ride  no  more. 

Although  I  can  hardly  claim  Symonds  as  a  Soul, 
he  was  so  much  interested  in  me  and  my  friends 
that  I  must  write  a  short  account  of  him. 

[59] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  was  nursing  my  sister,  Pauline  Gordon  Duff, 
when  I  first  met  John  Addington  Symonds,  in 
1885,  at  Davos. 

I  climbed  up  to  Am  Hof*  one  afternoon  with  a 
letter  of  introduction,  which  was  taken  to  the  family; 
while  I  was  shown  into  a  wooden  room  full  of; 
charming  things.  As  no  one  came  near  me,  I| 
presumed  every  one  was  out,  so  I  settled  down: 
peacefully  among  the  books,  prepared  to  wait.  Ini 
a  little  time  I  heard  a  shuffle  of  slippered  feet  and 
some  one  pausing  at  the  open  door. 

"Hass  he  gone?"  was  the  querulous  question  that 
came  from  behind  the  screen. 

And  in  a  moment  the  thin,  curious  face  of  John 
Addington  Symonds  was  peering  at  me  round  the 
corner. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  answer: 

"No  I  am  afraid  she  is  still  here!"  ^ 

Being  the  most  courteous  of  men,  he  smiled  and 
took  my  hand;  and  we  went  up  to  his  library 
together. 

Symonds  and  I  became  very  great  friends. 

After  putting  my  sister  to  bed  at  9.30, 1  climbed 
every  night  by  starlight  up  to  Am  Hof,  where  we 

*J.  A.  Symonds's  country  hoose. 

[60] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

talked  and  read  out  loud  till  one  and  often  two  in 
the  morning.  I  learnt  more  in  those  winter  nights 
at  Davos  than  I  had  ever  learnt  in  my  life.  We 
read  The  Republic  and  all  the  Plato  dialogues 
together;  Swift,  Voltaire,  Browning,  Walt  Whit- 
man, Edgar  Poe  and  Symonds'  own  Renaissa/nce, 
besides  passages  from  every  author  and  poet, 
which  he  would  turn  up  feverishly  to  illustrate  what 
he  wanted  me  to  understand. 

I  shall  always  think  Lord  Morley*  the  best  talker 
I  ever  heard  and  after  him  I  would  say  Symonds, 
Birrell  and  Bergson.  George  Meredith  was  too 
much  of  a  prima  domia  and  was  very  deaf  and 
uninterruptable  when  I  knew  him,  but  he  was 
amazingly  good  even  then.  Alfred  Austin  was  a 
friend  of  his  and  had  just  been  made  Poet  Laureate 
by  Lord  Salisbury,  when  my  beloved  friend 
Admiral  Maxse  took  me  down  to  the  country  to 
see  Meredith  for  the  first  time.  Feeling  more  than 
usually  stupid,  I  said  to  him: 

*'Well  Mr.  Meredith,  I  v/onder  what  your  friend 
Alfred  Austin  thinks  of  his  appointment?" 

Shaking  his  beautiful  head  he  replied: 

"It  is  very  hard  to  say  what  a  bantam  is  thinking 
when  it  is  crowing." 

*Viscount  Morley  of  Blackburn. 

[61] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH  | 

Symonds'  conversation  is  described,  in  Steven-i 
son's  essay  on  Talks  and  Talkers,  but  no  one  couldl 
ever  really  give  the  fancy,  the  epigram,  the  swift-| 
ness  and  earnestness  with  which  he  not  only  ex-^ 
pressed  himself  but  engaged  you  in  conversation. 
This  and  his  affection  combined  to  make  him  ai 
enchanting  companion. 

The  Swiss  postmen  and  woodmen  constantly 
joined  us  at  midnight  and  drank  Italian  wines  oul 
of  beautiful  glass  which  our  host  had  brought  from 
Venice ;  and  they  were  our  only  interruptions  when 
Mrs.  Symonds  and  the  handsome  girls  went  to  bed. 
I  have  many  memories  of  seeing  our  peasant 
friends  off  from  Symonds'  front  door,  and  standing 
by  his  side  in  the  dark,  listening  to  the  crack  of  their 
whips  and  their  yodels  yelled  far  down  the  snowj 
roads  into  the  starry  skies. 

When  I  first  left  him  and  returned  to  England, 
Mrs.  Symonds  told  me  he  sat  up  all  night,  filling 
a  blank  book  with  his  own  poems  and  translations, 
which  he  posted  to  me  in  the  early  morning.  We 
corresponded  till  he  died;  and  I  have  kept  every 
letter  that  he  ever  wrote  to  me. 

He  was  the  first  person  who  besought  me  to 

write.    If  only  he  were  alive  now,  I  would  show  him 

[62] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

this  manuscript  and,  if  any  one  could  make  any- 
thing of  it  by  counsel,  sympathy  and  encourage- 
ment ;  my  autobiography  might  become  famous. 

"You  have  Voreille  juste f'  he  would  say,  "and  I 
value  your  literary  judgment." 

I  will  here  insert  some  of  his  letters,  beginning 
with  the  one  he  sent  down  to  our  villa  at  Davos 
a  propos  of  the  essays  over  which  Lady  ]  iOndon- 
derry  and  I  had  our  little  breeze : 

I  am  at  work  upon  a  volume  of  essays  in  art  and 
criticism,  puzzling  to  my  brain  and  not  easy  to 
write.    I  think  I  shall  ask  you  to  read  them. 

I  want  an  intelligent  audience  before  I  publish 
'hem.  I  want  to  "try  them  on"  somebody's  mind 
—like  a  dress — ^to  see  how  they  fit.  Only  you  must 
promise  to  write  observations  and,  most  killing 
remark  of  all,  to  say  when  the  tedium  of  read- 
ng  them  begins  to  overweigh  the  profit  of  my 
philosophy. 

I  think  you  could  help  me. 

After  the  publication  he  wrote : 

I  am  sorry  that  the  Essays  I  dedicated  to  you 
lave  been  a  failure — as  I  think  they  have  been — 
;o  judge  by  the  opinions  of  the  Press.  I  wanted, 
vhen  I  wrote  them,  only  to  say  the  simple  truth  of 
vhat  I  thought  and  felt  in  the  very  simplest 
anguage  I  could  find. 

[63] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

What  the  critics  say  is  that  I  have  uttere( 
truisms  in  the  baldest,  least  attractive  diction. 

Here  I  find  myself  to  be  judged,  and  not 
unjustly.  In  the  pursuit  of  truth,  I  said  what  I 
had  to  say  bluntly — and  it  seems  I  had  nothing  but 
commonplaces  to  give  forth.  In  the  search  foj 
sincerity  of  style,  I  reduced  every  proposition  tj 
its  barest  form  of  language.  And  that  abnegatioj 
of  rhetoric  has  revealed  the  nudity  of  my  commoi 
places. 

I  know  that  I  have  no  wand,  that  I  cann( 
conjure,  that  I  cannot  draw  the  ears  of  men 
listen  to  my  words. 

So,  when  I  finally  withdraw  from  furthe; 
appeals  to  the  public,  as  I  mean  to  do,  I  cannd 
pose  as  a  Prospero  who  breaks  his  staff.  I  am  onh 
a  somewhat  sturdy,  highly  nervous  varlet  in  th< 
sphere  of  art,  who  has  sought  to  wear  the  robe  o 
the  magician — and  being  now  disrobed,  takes  hi 
place  quietly  where  God  appointed  him,  and  meani 
to  hold  his  tongue  in  future,  since  his  propei 
function  has  been  shown  him. 

Thus  it  is  with  me.  And  I  should  not,  my  deal 
friend,  have  inflicted  so  much  of  myself  upon  you 
if  I  had  not,  unluckily,  and  in  gross  miscalculatioE 
of  my  powers,  connected  you^  name  with  the  book 
which  proves  my  incompetence. 

Yes,  the  Master*  is  right:  make  as  much  o 
your  life  as  you  can :  use  it  to  the  best  and  noblesi 
purpose :  do  not,  when  you  are  old  and  broken  like 
me,  sit  in  the  middle  of  the  ruins  of  Carthage  yor 
have  vainly  conquered,  as  I  am  doing  now. 

*Dr.  Jowett,  Master  of  Balliol. 

[64] 


"'t> 

^^^^^rir^^^^^^l 

^^^^^^^^^k'  -  "^Bril^^^^^l 

TV  ' 

■  # 

^  i 

30DFHEY   WEBB:    MEMBER   OF 
>F  PBIXCESS  BIBESCO 

THE  SOULS   AND  GODFATHEB 

• 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Now  good  bye.  Keep  any  of  my  letters  which 
seem  to  you  worth  keeping.  This  will  make  me 
write  better.  I  keep  a  great  many  of  yours.  You 
will  never  lose  a  warm  corner  in  the  centre  of  the 
heart  of  your  friend 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

P.S.  Live  well.  Live  happy.  Do  not  forget 
me.  I  like  to  think  of  you  in  plenitude  of  life  and 
activity.  I  should  not  be  sorry  for  you  if  you  broke 
your  neck  in  the  hunting  field.  But,  like  the 
Master,  I  want  you  to  make  sure  of  the  young, 
powerful  life  you  have — before  the  inevitable, 
dolorous,  long,  dark  night  draws  nigh. 

Later  on,  a  propos  of  his  translation  of  the 
Autobiography  of  Benvenuto  Cellini,  he  wrote: 

I  am  so  glad  that  you  like  my  Cellini.  The  book 
has  been  a  success ;  and  I  am  pleased,  though  I  am 
not  interested  in  its  sale.  The  publisher  paid  me 
£210  for  my  work,  which  I  thought  very  good 
wages. 

My  dear  Margot, 

I  wrote  to  you  in  a  great  hurry  yesterday,  and 
with  some  bothering  thoughts  in  the  background  of 
my  head. 

So  I  did  not  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciated 
your  critical  insight  into  the  points  of  my  Introduc- 
tion to  Cellini.  I  do  not  rate  that  piece  of  writing 
quite  as  highly  as  you  do.  But  you  "spotted"  the 
best  thing  in  it — ^the  syllogism  describing  Cellini's 
state  of  mind  as  to  Bourbon's  death. 

[65] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

It  is  true,  I  think,  what  you  say:  that  I  have 
been  getting  more  nervous  and  less  elaborate  ii 
style  of  late  years.     This  is  very  natural.     One 
starts    in    life    with    sensuous    susceptibilities    t< 
beauty,  with  a  strong  feeling  for  colour  and  for 
melodious  cadence,   and  also  with  an  impulsive 
enthusiastic  way  of  expressing  oneself.  This  causes 
young   work   to   seem   decorated    and    laboured! 
whereas  it  very  often  is  really  spontaneous  an(^ 
hasty,  more  instructive  and  straightforward  thai 
the  work  of  middle  life.     I  write  now  with  mud 
more  trouble  and  more  slowly,  and  with  much  less 
interest  in  my  subject  than  I  used  to  do.    This  giv< 
me  more  command  over  the  vehicle,  language,  thaii 
I  used  to  have.    I  write  what  pleases  myself  less, 
but  what  probably  strikes  other  people  more. 

This  is  a  long  discourse ;  but  not  so  much  about 
myself  as  appears.  I  was  struck  with  your  insight, 
and  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  I  analyse  the  change 
of  style  which  you  point  out,  and  which  results,  I 
think,  from  colder,  more  laborious,  duller  effort  as^ 
one  grows  in  years. 

The  artist  ought  never  to  be  commanded  by  hisi 
subject,  or  his  vehicle  of  expression.  But  until  he 
ceases  to  love  both  with  a  blind  passion,  he  will 
probably  be  so  commanded.  And  then  his  style 
will  appear  decorative,  florid,  mixed,  unequal, 
laboured.  It  is  the  sobriety  of  a  satiated  or  blunted 
enthusiasm  which  makes  the  literary  artist.  He 
ought  to  remember  his  dithyrambic  moods,  but  not 
to  be  subject  to  them  any  longer,  nor  to  yearn  after 
them. 

Do  you  know  that  I  have  only  just  now  found 

[66] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

the  time,  during  my  long  days  and  nights  in  bed 
with  influenza  and  bronchitis,  to  read  Marie  Bash- 
kirtseff  ?  (Did  ever  name  so  puzzling  grow  upon 
the  Ygdrasil  of  even  Russian  life?) 

By  this  time  you  must  be  quite  tired  of  hearing 
from  your  friends  how  much  Marie  Bashkirtseff 
reminds  them  of  you. 

I  cannot  help  it.  I  must  say  it  once  again.  I 
am  such  a  fossil  thajt  I  permit  myself  the  most 
antediluvian  remarks — if  I  think  they  have  a  grain 
of  truth  in  them.  Of  course,  the  dissimilarities  are 
quite  as  striking  as  the  likenesses.  No  two  leaves 
on  one  linden  are  really  the  same.  But  you  and 
she,  detached  from  the  forest  of  life,  seem  to  me 
like  leaves  plucked  from  the  same  sort  of  tree. 

It  is  a  very  wonderful  book.  If  only  messieurs 
les  romanciers  could  photograph  experience  in  their 
fiction  as  she  has  done  in  some  of  her  pages !  The 
episode  of  Pachay,  short  as  that  is,  is  masterly — 
above  the  reach  of  Balzac;  how  far  above  the 
laborious,  beetle-flight  of  Henry  James!  Above 
even  George  Meredith.  It  is  what  James  would 
give  his  right  hand  to  do  once.  The  episode  of 
Antonelli  is  very  good,  too,  but  not  so  exquisite  as 
the  other. 

There  is  something  pathetic  about  both  "Aso- 
lando"  and  "Demeter,"  those  shrivelled  blossoms 
from  the  stout  old  laurels  touched  with  frost  of 
winter  and  old  age.  But  I  find  little  to  dwell  upon 
in  either  of  them.  Browning  has  more  sap  of  life — 
Tennyson  more  ripe  and  mellow  mastery.  Each 
is  here  in  the  main  reproducing  his  mannerism. 

I  am  writing  to  you,  you  see,  just  as  if  I  had  not 

[67] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

been  silent  for  so  long.  I  take  you  at  your  word," 
and  expect  Margot  to  be  always  the  same  to  a  com- 
rade. 

If  you  were  only  here!  Keats  said  that  "heard 
melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard  are  sweeter." 
How  false! 

Yes,  thus  it  is :  somewhere  by  me 
Unheard,  by  me  unf  elt,  unknown, 

The  laughing,  rippling  notes  of  thee 
Are  sounding  still ;  while  I  alone 

Am  left  to  sit  and  sigh  and  say — 
Music  unheard  is  sweet  as  they. 

This  is  no  momentary  mood,  and  no  light  bubble- 
breath  of  improvisatory  verse.  It  expresses  what 
I  often  feel  when,  after  a  long  night's  work,  I  light 
my  candle  and  take  a  look  before  I  go  to  bed  at  your 
portrait  in  the  corner  of  my  stove. 

I  have  been  labouring  intensely  at  my  auto- 
biography. It  is  blocked  out,  and  certain  parts  of 
it  are  written  for  good.  But  a  thing  of  this  sort 
ought  to  be  a  master's  final  piece  of  work — and  it  is 
very  exhausting  to  produce. 

Am  Hof, 
Davos  Platz, 
Switzerland, 
Sept.  27th,  1891. 
My  dear  Margot, 

I  am  sending  you  back  your  two  typewritten 
records.  They  are  both  very  interesting,  the  one  as 
autobiographical  and  a  study  of  your  family,  the 

[68] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

other  as  a  vivid  and,  I  think,  justly  critical  picture 
of  Gladstone.  It  will  have  a  great  literary  value 
sometime.  I  do  not  quite  feel  with  Jowett,  who 
told  you,  did  he  not?  that  you  had  made  him  under- 
stand Gladstone.  But  I  feel  that  you  have  offered 
an  extremely  powerful  and  brilliant  conception, 
which  is  impressive  and  convincing  because  of  your 
obvious  sincerity  and  breadth  of  view.  The  purely 
biographical  and  literary  value  of  this  bit  of  work 
seems  to  me  very  great,  and  makes  me  keenly  wish 
that  you  would  record  all  your  interesting  expe- 
riences, and  your  first-hand  studies  of  exceptional 
personalities  in  the  same  way. 

Gradually,  by  doing  this,  you  would  accumulate 
material  of  real  importance;  much  better  than 
novels  or  stories,  and  more  valuable  than  the  pas- 
sionate utterances  of  personal  emotion. 

Did  I  ever  show  you  the  record  I  privately 
printed  of  an  evening  passed  by  me  at  Woolner,  the 
sculptor's,  when  Gladstone  met  Tennyson  for  the 
first  time?  If  I  had  been  able  to  enjoy  more  of  such 
incidents,  I  should  also  have  made  documents.  But 
my  opportunities  have  been  limited.  For  future 
historians,  the  illuminative  value  of  such  writing 
will  be  incomparable. 

I  suppose  I  must  send  the  two  pieces  back  to 
Glen.  Which  I  will  do,  together  with  this  letter. 
Let  me  see  what  you  write.  I  think  you  have  a  very 
penetrative  glimpse  into  character,  which  comes 
from  perfect  disengagement  and  sympathy  con- 
trolled by  a  critical  sense.  The  absence  of  egotism 
is  a  great  point. 


[69] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

When  Symonds  died  I  lost  my  best  intellectual 
tutor  as  well  as  one  of  my  dearest  friends.  I  wish  I 
had  taken  his  advice  and  seriously  tried  to  write 
years  ago,  but,  except  for  a  few  magazine  sketches, 
I  have  never  written  a  line  for  publication  in  myj 
life.  I  have  only  kept  a  careful  and  accurate  diary,* 
and  here,  in  the  interests  of  my  publishers  and  at' 
the  risk  of  being  thought  egotistical,  it  is  not  inap-  j 
propriate  that  I  should  publish  the  following  letters  \ 
in  connection  with  these  diaries  and  my  writing: 

21  Carlyle  Mansions^ 

Cheyne  Walk, 
S.  W. 
April  mh,  1915. 
My  dear  Margot  Asquith, 

By  what  felicity  of  divination  were  you  inspired 
to  send  me  a  few  days  ago  that  wonderful  diary 
under  its  lock  and  key? — feeling  so  rightly  certain, 
I  mean,  of  the  peculiar  degree  and  particular  pang 
of  interest  that  I  should  find  in  it  ?  I  don't  wonder, 
indeed,  at  your  general  presumption  to  that  effect, 
but  the  mood,  the  moment,  and  the  resolution  itself 
conspired  together  for  me,  and  I  have  absorbed 
every  word  of  every  page  with  the  liveliest  apprecia- 
tion, and  I  think  I  may  say  intelligence.  I  have 
read  the  thing  intimately,  and  I  take  off  my  hat  to 
you  as  to  the  very  Balzac  of  diarists.    It  is  full  of 

*Out  of  all  my  diaries  I  have  hardly  been  able  to  quote  fifty  pages, 
for  on  re-reading  them  I  find  they  are  not  only  full  of  Cabinet 
secrets  but  jerky,  disjointed  and  dangerously  frank. 

[70] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

life  and  force  and  colour,  of  a  remarkable  instinct 
for  getting  close  to  your  people  and  things  and  for 
squeezing,  in  the  case  of  the  resolute  portraits  of 
certain  of  your  eminent  characters,  especially  the 
last  drop  of  truth  and  sense  out  of  them — at  least 
as  the  originals  affected  your  singularly  searching 
vision.  Happy,  then,  those  who  had,  of  this  essence, 
the  fewest  secrets  or  crooked  lives  to  yield  up  to 
you — for  the  more  complicated  and  unimaginable 
some  of  them  appear,  the  more  you  seem  to  me  to 
have  caught  and  mastered  them.  Then  I  have 
found  myself  hanging  on  your  impression  in  each 
case  with  the  liveliest  suspense  and  wonder,  so 
thrillingly  does  the  expression  keep  abreast  of  it 
and  really  translate  it.  This  and  your  extraordinary 
fullness  of  opportunity,  make  of  the  record  a  most 
valuable  English  document,  a  rare  revelation  of  the 
human  inwardness  of  political  life  in  this  country, 
and  a  picture  of  manners  and  personal  characters 
as  "creditable"  on  the  whole  (to  the  country)  as  it 
is  frank  and  acute.  The  beauty  is  that  you  write 
with  such  authority,  that  you've  seen  so  much  and 
lived  and  moved  so  much,  and  that  having  so  the 
chance  to  observe  and  feel  and  discriminate  in  the 
light  of  so  much  high  pressure,  you  haven't  been 
in  the  least  afraid,  but  have  faced  and  assimilated 
and  represented  for  all  you're  worth. 

I  have  lived,  you  see,  wholly  out  of  the  inner 
circle  of  political  life,  and  yet  more  or  less  in  won- 
dering sight,  for  years,  of  many  of  its  outer  appear- 
ances, and  in  superficial  contact — ^though  this, 
indeed,  pretty  anciently  now — ^with  various  actors 
and  figures,  standing  off  from  them  on  my  quite 

[71] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

different  ground  and  neither  able  nor  wanting  to  be 
of  the  craft  of  mystery  (preferring,  so  to  speak, 
my  own  poor,  private  ones,  such  as  they  have  been) 
and  yet  with  all  sorts  of  unsatisfied  curiosities  and 
yearnings  and  imaginings  in  your  general,  your 
fearful  direction.  Well,  you  take  me  by  the  hand 
and  lead  me  back  and  in,  and  still  in,  and  make 
things  beautifully  up  to  me — all  my  losses  and 
misses  and  exclusions  and  privation — and  do  it  by 
having  taken  all  the  right  notes,  apprehended  all  the 
right  values  and  enjoyed  all  the  right  reactions — 
meaning  by  the  right  ones,  those  that  must  have 
ministered  most  to  interest  and  emotion ;  those  that 
I  dimly  made  you  out  as  getting  while  I  flattened 
my  nose  against  the  shop  window  and  you  were 
there  within,  eating  the  tarts,  shall  I  say,  or  hand- 
ing them  over  the  counter?  It's  to-day  as  if  you 
had  taken  all  the  trouble  for  me  and  left  me  at  last 
all  the  unearned  increment  or  fine  psychological 
gain!  I  have  hovered  about  two  or  three  of  your 
distinguished  persons  a  bit  longingly  (in  the  past) ; 
but  you  open  up  the  abysses,  or  such  like,  that  I 
really  missed,  and  the  torch  you  play  over  them  is 
often  luridly  illuminating.  I  find  my  experience, 
therefore,  the  experience  of  simply  reading  you 
(you  having  had  all  t'other)  veritably  romantic. 
But  I  want  so  to  go  on  that  I  deplore  your  apparent 
arrest — Saint  Simon  is  in  forty  volumes — why 
should  Margot  be  put  in  one?  Your  own  portrait 
is  an  extraordinarily  patient  and  detached  and 
touch-upon-touch  thing;  but  the  book  itself  really 
constitutes  an  image  of  you  by  its  strength  of  feel- 
ing and  living  individual  tone.    An  admirable  por- 

[72] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

trait  of  a  lady,  with  no  end  of  finish  and  style,  is 
thereby  projected,  and  if  I  don't  stop  now,  I  shall 
be  calling  it  a  regular  masterpiece.  Please  believe 
how  truly  touched  I  am  by  your  confidence  in  your 
faithful,  though  old,  friend, 

Henry  James. 

My  dear  and  distinguished  friend  Lord  Morley 
sent  me  the  following  letter  of  the  15th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1919,  and  it  was  in  consequence  of  this  letter 
that,  two  months  afterwards,  on  November  the 
11th,  1919,  I  began  to  write  this  book: 

Flowermead, 
Princes  Road, 

>.  Wimbledon  Park,  S.W., 

[  September  15th,  1919. 

EAR  Mrs.  Asquith, 
Your  kindest  of  letters  gave  me  uncommon 
pleasure,  both  personal  and  literary.  Personal, 
because  I  like  to  know  that  we  are  still  affectionate 
friends,  as  we  have  been  for  such  long,  important 
and  trying  years.  Literary — because  it  is  a  brilhant 
example  of  that  character-writing  in  which  the 
French  so  indisputably  beat  us.  If  you  like,  you 
can  be  as  keen  and  brilliant  and  penetrating  as 
Madame  de  Sevigne  or  the  best  of  them,  and  if  I 
were*  a  publisher,  I  would  tempt  you  by  high  emolu- 
ments and  certainty  of  fame.  You  ask  me  to  leave 
you  a  book  when  I  depart  this  life.  If  I  were  your 
generous  well-wisher,  I  should  not  leave,  but  give 
you,  my  rather  full  collection  of  French  Memoirs 

[73] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


\ 


now  while  I  am  alive.  Well,  I  am  in  very  truth 
your  best  well-wisher,  but  incline  to  bequeath  my 
modern  library  to  a  public  body  of  female  ladies,  if 
you  pardon  that  odd  and  inelegant  expression. 

I  have  nothing  good  or  interesting  to  tell  you  of 
myself.    My  strength  will  stand  no  tax  upon  it. 

The  bequest  from  my  old  friend*  in  America  was 
a  pleasant  refresher,  and  it  touched  me,  considering 
how  different  we  were  in  training,  character,  tastes, 
temperament.  I  was  first  introduced  to  him  with 
commendation  by  Mr.  Arnold — a  curious  trio, 
wasn't  it?  He  thought,  and  was  proud  of  it,  that 
he,  A.  C,  introduced  M.  A.  and  me  to  the  United 
States. 

I  watch  events  and  men  here  pretty  vigilantly, 
with  what  good  and  hopeful  spirits  you  can  imagine. 
When  you  return  do  pay  me  a  visit.  There's  no- 
body who  would  be  such  a  tonic  to  an  octogenarian. 

Always,  always,  your  affectionate  friend, 

J.  M. 

When  I  had  been  wrestling  with  this  auto- 
biography for  two  months  I  wrote  and  told  John 
Morley  of  my  venture,  and  this  is  his  reply: 

Flowermead, 
Princes  Road, 
Wimbledon  Park, 
S.W., 
(Jem.,  1920). 
Dear  Mrs.  Asquith, 

A  bird  in  the  air  had  already  whispered  the 

*Andrew  Carnegie. 

[74] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

matter  of  your  literary  venture,  and  I  neither  had 
nor  have  any  doubt  at  all  that  the  publisher  knew 
very  well  what  he  was  about.  The  book  will  be 
bright  in  real  knowledge  of  the  world ;  rich  in  points 
of  life;  sympathetic  with  human  nature,  which  in 
strength  and  weakness  is  never  petty  or  small. 

Be  sure  to  trust  yourself;  and  don't  worry  about 
critics.  You  need  no  words  to  tell  you  how  warmly 
I  am  interested  in  your  great  design.    Persevere. 

How  kind  to  bid  me  to  your  royal*  meal.  But  I 
am  too  old  for  company  that  would  be  so  new,  so 
don't  take  it  amiss,  my  best  of  friends,  if  I  ask  to 
be  bidden  when  I  should  see  more  of  you.  You 
don't  know  how  dull  a  man,  once  lively,  can  degen- 
erate into  being. 

Your  always  affectionate  and  grateful 

J.  MORLEY. 


I 


To  return  to  my  triumphant  youth:  I  will  end 
this  chapter  with  a  note  which  my  friend.  Lady 
Frances  Balfour — one  of  the  few  women  of  out- 
standing intellect  that  I  have  known — sent  me  from 
her  father,  the  late  Duke  of  Argyll,  the  wonderful 
orator  of  whom  it  was  said  that  he  was  like  a  cannon 
being  fired  off  by  a  canary. 

Frances  asked  me  to  meet  him  at  a  small  dinner 
and  placed  me  next  to  him.    In  the  course  of  our 

*I  invited  him  to  meet  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

[75] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

conversation,  he  quoted  these  words  that  he  had 
heard  in  a  sermon  preached  by  Dr.  Caird : 

"Oh!  for  the  time  when  Church  and  State  shall 
no  longer  be  the  watchword  of  opposing  hosts,  when 
every  man  shall  be  a  priest  and  every  priest  shall  be 
a  king,  as  priest  clothed  with  righteousness,  as  king 
with  power !" 

I  made  him  write  them  down  for  me,  and  we  dis- 
cussed religion,  preachers  and  politics  at  some 
length  before  I  went  home. 

The  next  morning  he  wrote  to  his  daughter :         "^ 

Argyll  Lodge, 
Kensington. 
Dear  Frances, 

How  dare  you  ask  me  to  meet  a  syren. 

Your  affectionate, 

A. 


[76] 


CHAPTER  II 

character  sketch  of  margot — plans  to  start  a 
magazine — ^meets  master  of  balliol; 
jowett's  orthodoxy;  his  interest  in  and 
influence  over  margot — rose  in  "robert 

ELSMERE"  identified  as  MARGOT — JOWETT's 
OPINION  OF  NEWMAN JOWETT  ADVISES  MAR- 
GOT TO  MARRY — Huxley's  blasphemy 

I  SHALL  open  this  chapter  of  my  autobiog- 
raphy with  a  character-sketch  of  myself,  writ- 
ten at  Glen  in  one  of  our  pencil-games  in  January, 
1888.  Nearly  every  one  in  the  room  guessed  that  I 
was  the  subject,  but  opinions  differed  as  to  the  au- 
thorship. Some  thought  that  our  dear  and  clever 
friend,  Godfrey  Webb,  had  written  it  as  a  sort  of 
joke. 

"In  appearance  she  was  small,  with  rapid,  nervous 
movements ;  energetic,  never  wholly  ungraceful,  but 
inclined  to  be  restless.  Her  face  did  not  betray  the 
intelligence  she  possessed,  as  her  eyes,  though  clear 
and  well-shaped,  were  too  close  together.  Her 
hawky  nose  was  bent  over  a  short  upper  lip  and 

[77] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

meaningless  mouth.  The  chin  showed  more  definite 
character  than  her  other  features,  being  large,  bony 
and  prominent,  and  she  had  curly,  pretty  hair, 
growing  well  on  a  finely-cut  forehead ;  the  ensemble 
healthy  and  mobile;  in  manner  easy,  unself -con- 
scious, emphatic,  inclined  to  be  noisy  from  over- 
keenness  and  perfectly  self-possessed.  Conversa- 
tion graphic  and  exaggerated,  eager  and  concen- 
trated, with  a  natural  gift  of  expression.  Her 
honesty  more  a  peculiarity  than  a  virtue.  Decision 
more  of  instinct  than  of  reason;  a  disengaged  mind 
wholly  unfettered  by  prejudice.  Very  observant 
and  a  fine  judge  of  her  fellow-creatures,  finding  all 
interesting  and  worthy  of  her  speculation.  She  was 
not  easily  depressed  by  antagonistic  circumstances 
or  social  situations  hostile  to  herself — on  the  con- 
trary, her  spirit  rose  in  all  losing  games.  She  was 
assisted  in  this  by  having  no  personal  vanity,  the 
highest  vitality  and  great  self-confidence.  She  was 
self-indulgent,  though  not  selfish,  and  had  not 
enough  self-control  for  her  passion  and  impetu- 
osity; it  was  owing  more  to  dash  and  grit  than  to 
any  foresight  that  she  kept  out  of  difficulties.  She 
distrusted  the  dried-up  advice  of  many  people,  who 
prefer  coining  evil  to  publishing  good.  She  was 
[78] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

lacking  in  awe,  and  no  respecter  of  persons ;  loving 
old  people  because  she  never  felt  they  were  old. 
Warm-hearted,  and  with  much  power  of  devotion, 
thinking  no  trouble  too  great  to  take  for  those  you 
love,  and  agreeing  with  Dr.  Johnson  that  friend- 
ships should  be  kept  in  constant  repair.  Too  many 
interests  and  too  many-sided.  Fond  of  people,  ani- 
mals, books,  sport,  music,  art  and  exercise.  More 
Bohemian  than  exclusive  and  with  a  certain  power 
of  investing  acquaintances  and  even  bores  with  in- 
terest. Passionate  love  of  Nature.  Lacking  in 
devotional,  practising  religion ;  otherwise  sensitively 
religious.  Sensible;  not  easily  influenced  for  good 
or  evil.  Jealous,  keen  and  faithful  in  affection. 
Great  want  of  plodding  perseverance,  doing  many 
things  with  promise  and  nothing  well.  A  fine  ear 
for  music:  no  execution;  a  good  eye  for  drawing: 
no  knowledge  or  practice  in  perspective ;  more  crit- 
ical than  constructive.  Very  cool  and  decided  with 
horses.  Good  nerve,  good  whip  and  a  fine  rider. 
Intellectually  self-made,  ambitious,  independent 
and  self-willed.  Fond  of  admiration  and  love  from 
i  both  men  and  women,  and  able  to  give  it." 

I  sent  this  to  Dr.  Jowett  with  another  character- 

[79] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

sketch  of  Gladstone.    After  reading  them,  he  wrote 
me  this  letter: 

Ball.  Coll. 
Oct  23rd,  1890. 
My  dear  Margot, 

I  return  the  book*  which  you  entrusted  to  me: 
I  was  very  much  interested  by  it.  The  sketch  of 
Gladstone  is  excellent.  Pray  write  some  more  of 
it  some  time:  I  understand  him  better  after  read- 
ing it. 

The  young  lady's  portrait  of  herself  is  quite 
truthful  and  not  at  all  flattered :  shall  I  add  a  trait 
or  two?  "She  is  very  sincere  and  extremely  clever; 
indeed,  her  cleverness  almost  amounts  to  genius. 
She  might  be  a  distinguished  authoress  if  she  would 
— but  she  wastes  her  time  and  her  gifts  scampering 
about  the  world  and  going  from  one  country  house 
to  another  in  a  manner  not  pleasant  to  look  back 
upon  and  still  less  pleasant  to  think  of  twenty  years 
hence,  when  youth  will  have  made  itself  wings  and 
fled  away." 

If  you  know  her,  will  you  tell  her  with  my  love, 
that  I  do  not  like  to  offer  her  any  more  advice,  but 
I  wish  that  she  would  take  counsel  with  herself. 
She  has  made  a  great  position,  though  slippery  and 
dangerous:  will  she  not  add  to  this  a  noble  and 
simple  life  which  can  alone  give  a  true  value  to  it? 
The  higher  we  rise,  the  more  self-discipline,  self- 
control  and  economy  is  required  of  us.  It  is  a  hard 
thing  to  be  in  the  world  but  not  of  it;  to  be  out- 
wardly much  like  other  people  and  yet  to  be  cher- 

*A  commonplace  book  with  a  few  written  sketches  of  people  in  it. 

[80] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ishing  an  ideal  which  extends  over  the  whole  of  life 
and  beyond;  to  have  a  natural  love  for  every  one, 
especially  for  the  poor ;  to  get  rid,  not  of  wit  or  good 
humour,  but  of  frivolity  and  excitement;  to  hve 
"selfless"  according  to  the  Will  of  God  and  not 
after  the  fashions  and  opinions  of  men  and  women. 

Stimulated  by  this  and  the  encouragement  of 
Lionel  Tennyson — a  new  friend — I  was  anxious  to 
start  a  newspaper.  When  I  was  a  little  girl  at 
Glen,  there  had  been  a  schoolroom  paper,  called 
''The  Glen  Gossip:  The  Tennant  Tatler,  or  The 
Peeblesshire  Prattler"  I  believe  my  brother  Eddy 
wrote  the  wittiest  verses  in  it ;  but  I  was  too  young 
to  remember  much  about  it  or  to  contribute  any- 
thing. I  had  many  distinguished  friends  by  that 
time,  all  of  whom  had  promised  to  write  for  me. 
The  idea  was  four  or  five  numbers  to  be  illustrated 
by  my  sister  Lucy  Graham  Smith,  and  a  brilliant 
letter-press,  but,  in  spite  of  much  discussion  among 
ourselves,  it  came  to  nothing.  I  have  always  re- 
gretted this,  as,  looking  at  the  names  of  the  contrib- 
utors and  the  programme  for  the  first  number,  I 
think  it  might  have  been  a  success.  The  title  of  the 
paper  gave  us  infinite  trouble.  We  ended  by  adopt- 
ing a  suggestion  of  my  own,  and  our  new  venture 
was  to  have  been  called  "To-morrow"    This  is  the 

[81] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

list  of  people  who  promised  to  write  for  me,  and 
names  they  suggested  for  the  paper: 

Lord  and  Lady  Pembroke     Sympathetic  Ink. 
The  Idle  Pen. 
The  Mail. 
The  Kite. 
Blue  Ink. 


1 


the 


Mr.  A.  Lyttelton 

Mr.    Knowles 
Mr.  A.  J.  Balfour 


-  -      The  Hen. 

The  Cluck. 

-  -      The  Butterfly. 

The  New  Eve. 
Anomfmous. 
Mrs.  Orundy. 


Mr.  Oscar  WUde      - 


Lady  Ribblesdale 


Margot    Tennant 


The  Life  Improver. 
Mrs.  Orundy's  Daughter, 

Jane. 
Psyche. 
The  Mask. 

The  Mangle. 

Eve. 

Dolly   Varden. 

To-morrow. 


Mr.     Webb 


-     -      -      The  Petticoat. 


Mrs.    Horner 
Miss  Mary  Leslie 

Sir   A.   West      - 
Mr.  J.  A.  Symonds 


-      She. 


The  Sphinx. 
Eglantine. 
Blue  Veil. 
Pinafore. 

The  Spinnet. 

The  Spinrvimg-Wheel. 

Muses  and  Graces. 
Caniseries  en  peignoir. 
Woman's  Wit  amd  Hu/meur, 


The  contributors  on  our  staff  were  to  have  been 
Laurence  Oliphant,  J.  K.  Stephen,  Mr.  Wilfrid 
[82] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Blunt,  Hon.  George  Curzon,  George  Wyndham, 
Godfrey  Webb,  Doll  Liddell,  Harry  Cust,  Mr. 
Knowles  (the  editor  of  the  Nineteenth  Century), 
the  Hon.  A.  Lyttelton,  Mr.  A.  J.  Balfour,  Oscar 
Wilde,  Lord  and  Lady  Ribblesdale,  Mrs.  (now 
Lady)  Horner,  Sir  Algernon  West,  Lady  Frances 
Balfour,  Lord  and  Lady  Pembroke,  Miss  Betty 
Ponsonby  (tKe  present  Mrs.  Montgomery),  John 
Addington  Symonds,  Dr.  Jowett  (the  Master  of 
Balliol),  M.  Coquelin,  Sir  Henry  Irving,  Miss 
Ellen  Terry,  Sir  Edward  Burne-Jones,  Mr. 
George  Russell,  Mrs.  Singleton  (alias  Violet  Fane, 
afterwards  Lady  Currie),  Lady  de  Grey,  Lady 
Constance  Leslie  and  the  Hon.  Lionel  Tennyson. 
Our  programme  for  the  first  number  was  to  have 
been  the  following: 

To-Mc«aow 

Leader                             Persons  and  Politics  Margot  Tennant. 
The  Social  Zodiac          Rise  and   fall  of 

Professional  Beauties  Lady  de  Grey. 

Occasional   Articles        The  Green-eyed  Violet    Fane    (nom- 

Monster  de-plume  of 

i  Mrs.      Slhgleton). 
Occasional   Notes           Foreign  and  Colonial 

Gossip  Harry   Cust. 

Men  and  Women           Character   Sketch  Margot   Tennant. 

Story           _-_       __       -       _       _       _  Oscar  Wilde. 

Poem         -      -      - Godfrey  Webb. 

Letters   to   Men    -        ---___  George  Wyndham. 

Books  Reviewed    -        ------  John  Addington 

Symonds. 

Conversations         -        ------  Miss    Ponsonby. 

[83] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

This  is  what  I  wrote  for  the  first  number: 
"Peesons  and  Politics 

"In  Politics  the  common  opinion  is  that  measures 
are  the  important  thing,  and  that  men  are  merely 
the  instruments  which  each  generation  produces, 
equal  or  unequal  to  the  accomplishment  of  them. 

"This  is  a  mistake.  The  majority  of  mankind 
desire  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  led.  They  have  no 
opinions  of  their  own,  and,  half  from  caution,  half 
from  laziness,  are  willing  to  leave  the  responsibility 
to  any  stronger  person.  It  is  the  personality  of  the 
man  which  makes  the  masses  turn  to  him,  gives  in- 
fluence to  Ms  ideas  while  he  lives,  and  causes  him  to 
be  remembered  after  both  he  and  his  work  are  dead. 
From  the  time  of  Moses  downwards,  history 
abounds  in  such  examples.  In  the  present  century 
Napoleon  and  Gladstone  have  perhaps  impressed 
themselves  most  dramatically  on  the  public  mind, 
and,  in  a  lesser  degree,  Disraeli  and  Parnell.  The 
greatest  men  in  the  past  have  been  superior  to  their 
age  and  associated  themselves  with  its  glory  only  in 
so  far  as  they  have  contributed  to  it.  But  in.  these 
days  the  movement  of  time  is  too  rapid  for  us  to 
recognise  such  a  man:  under  modern  conditions  he 
[84] 


1 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

must  be  superior,  not  so  much  to  his  age,  as  to  the 
men  of  his  age,  and  absorb  what  glory  he  can  in  his 
own  personality. 

"The  Code  Napoleon  remains,  but,  beyond  this, 
hardly  one  of  Napoleon's  great  achievements  sur- 
vives as  a  living  embodiment  of  his  genius.  Never 
was  so  vast  a  fabric  so  quickly  created  and  so 
quickly  dissolved.  The  moment  the  individual  was 
caught  and  removed,  the  bewitched  French  world 
returned  to  itself ;  and  the  fame  of  the  army  and  the 
prestige  of  France  were  as  mere  echoes  of  retreat- 
ing thunder.  Dead  as  are  the  results  of  Bona- 
parte's measures  and  actions,  no  one  would  question 
the  permanent  vitality  of  his  name.  It  conjures  up 
an  image  in  the  dullest  brain;  and  among  all  his- 
torical celebrities  he  is  the  one  whom  most  of  us 
would  like  to  have  met. 

"The  Home  Rule  question,  which  has  long  dis- 
torted the  public  judgment  and  looms  large  at  the 
present  political  moment,  admirably  illustrates  the 
power  of  personality.  Its  importance  has  been 
exaggerated;  the  grant  of  Home  Rule  will  not 
save  Ireland;  its  refusal  will  not  shame  England. 
Its  swollen  proportions  are  wholly  due  to  the  pas- 
sionate  personal   feehngs   which   Mr.    Gladstone 

[85] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

alone  among  living  statemen  inspires.  *He  is  so 
powerful  that  his  thoughts  are  nearly  acts,'  as 
some  one  has  written  of  him;  and  at  an  age  when 
most  men  would  be  wheeled  into  the  chimney- 
corner,  he  is  at  the  head  of  a  precarious  majority 
and  still  retains  enough  force  to  compel  its  undi- 
vided support. 

"Mr.  Chamberlain's  power  springs  from  the  con- 
centration of  a  nature  which  is  singularly  free  from 
complexity.  The  range  of  his  mind  is  narrow, 
but  up  to  its  horizon  the  whole  is  illuminated  by  the 
same  strong  and  rather  garish  light.  The  absolute- 
ness of  his  convictions  is  never  shaded  or  softened 
by  any  play  of  imagination  or  sympathetic  insight. 
It  is  not  in  virtue  of  any  exceptionally  fine  or 
attractive  quality,  either  of  intellect  or  of  char- 
acter, that  Mr.  Chamberlain  lias  become  a  dominant 
figure.  Strength  of  will,  directness  of  purpose,  an 
aggressive  and  contagious  belief  in  himself:  these — ' 
which  are  the  notes  of  a  compelling  individuality — 
made  him  what  he  is.  On  the  other  hand,  culture, 
intellectual  versatility,  sound  and  practised  judg- 
ment, which  was  tried  and  rarely  found  wanting  in 
delicate  and  even  dangerous  situations,  did  not  suf- 
fice in  the  case  of  Mr.  Matthews  to  redeem  the 
[86] 


I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


shortcomings  of  a  diffuse  and  ineffective  person- 
ality. 

"In  a  different  way,  Mr.  Goschen's  remarkable 
endowments  are  neutralised  by  the  same  limitations. 
He  has  infinite  ingenuity,  but  he  can  neither  initiate 
nor  propel;  an  intrepid  debater  in  council  and  in 
action,  he  is  prey  to  an  invincible  indecision. 

"If  the  fortunes  of  a  Government  depend  not  so 
much  on  its  measures  as  upon  the  character  of  the 
men  who  compose  it,  the  new  Ministry  starts  with 
every  chance  of  success. 

"Lord  Rosebery  is  one  of  our  few  statesmen 
whose  individuality  is  distinctly  recognised  by  the 
public,  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

"Lord  Spencer,  without  a  trace  of  genius,  is  a 
person.  Sir  W.  Harcourt,  the  most  brilliant  and 
witty  of  them  all,  is,  perhaps,  not  more  than  a  life- 
hke  imitation  of  a  strong  man.  Mr.  John  Morley 
has  conviction,  courage  and  tenacity;  but  an  over- 
delicacy  of  nervous  organisation  and  a  certain  lack 
of  animal  spirits  disqualify  him  from  being  a  leader 
of  men. 

"It  is  premature  to  criticise  the  new  members  of 
the  Cabinet,  of  whom  the  most  conspicuous  is  Mr. 
Asquith.      Beyond   and    above   his    abilities    and 

[87] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


1 


eloquence,  there  is  in  him  much  quiet  force  and  a 
certain  vein  of  scornful  austerity.  His  supreme 
contempt  for  the  superficial  and  his  independence 
of  mind  might  take  him  far. 

"The  future  will  not  disclose  its  secrets,  but  per- 
sonality still  governs  the  world,  and  the  avenue  is 
open  to  the  man,  wherever  he  may  be  found,  who 
can  control  and  will  not  be  controlled  by  fashions  of 
opinion  and  the  shifting  movement  of  causes  and 
cries."  I 

My  article  is  not  at  all  good,  but  I  put  it  in  this 
autobiography  merely  as  a  political  prophecy. 

To  be  imitative  and  uninfluenceable — although  a 
common  combination — is  a  bad  one.  I  am  not 
tempted  to  be  imitative  except,  I  hope,  in  the  better 
sense  of  the  word,  but  I  regret  to  own  that  I  am  not 
very  influenceable  either. 

Jowett  (the  Master  of  Balliol  in  1888-89),  my 
doctor.  Sir  John  Williams  (of  Aberystwyth),  my 
son  Anthony  and  old  Lady  Wemyss  (the  mother  of 
the  present  Earl)  had  more  influence  over  me  than 
any  other  individuals  in  the  world. 

The  late  Countess  of  Wemyss,  who  died  in  1896, 
[88] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  a  great  character  without  being  a  character- 
part.  She  told  me  that  she  frightened  people,  which 
distressed  her.  As  I  am  not  easily  frightened,  I 
was  puzzled  by  this.  After  thinking  it  over,  I  was 
convinced  that  it  was  because  she  had  a  hard  nut 
to  crack  within  herself:  she  possessed  a  jealous, 
passionate,  youthful  temperament,  a  formidable 
standard  of  right  and  wrong,  a  distinguished  and 
rather  stem  accueilj  a  low,  slow  utterance  and  terri- 
^  fying  sincerity.  She  was  the  kind  of  person  I  had 
dreamt  of  meeting  and  never  knew  that  God  had 
made.  She  once  told  me  that  I  was  the  best  friend 
man,  woman  or  child  could  ever  have.    After  this 

Ironderful  compliment,  we  formed  a  deep  attach- 
lent,  which  lasted  until  her  death.  She  had  a 
nique  power  of  devotion  and  fundamental  humble- 
ess.  I  kept  every  letter  she  ever  wrote  to  me. 
I  When  we  left  Downing  Street  in  ten  days — after 
eing  there  for  over  nine  years — and  had  not  a  roof 
to  cover  our  heads,  our  new  friends  came  to  the 
rescue.  I  must  add  that  many  of  the  old  ones  had 
no  room  for  us  and  some  were  living  in  the  country. 
Lady  Crewe* — young  enough  to  be  my  daughter, 
and  a  woman  of  rare  honesty  of  purpose  and  clear- 

•Tlie  Marchioness  of  Crewe. 

[89] 


vdi 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

ness  of  head — ^tooji  our  son  Cyril  in  at  Crewi 
House.  Lady  Granard*  put  up  my  husband ;  Mrs. 
Cavendish-Bentinck — Lady  Granard's  aunt  and 
one  of  God's  own — befriended  my  daughter  Eliza- 
beth; Mrs.  George  Keppelfalways  large-hearted 
and  kind — ^gave  me  a  whole  floor  of  her  house  in 
Grosvenor  Street  to  live  in,  for  as  many  montilis 
as  I  liked,  and  Mrs.  McKennaJ  took  in  my  son 
Anthony.  No  one  has  had  such  wonderful  friends 
as  I  have  had,  but  no  one  has  suffered  more  at  dis- 
covering the  instability  of  human  beings  and  how 
little  power  to  love  many  people  possess.  I 

Few  men  and  women  surrender  their  wills;  and 
it  is  considered  lowering  to  their  dignity  to  own 
that  they  are  in  the  wrong.  I  never  get  over  my 
amazement  at  this  kind  of  self -value,  it  passes  all 
my  comprehension.  It  is  vanity  and  this  funda- 
mental lack  of  humbleness  that  is  the  bed-rock  of 
nearly  every  quarrel. 

It  was  through  my  beloved  Lady  Wemyss  that  I 
first  met  the  Master  of  Balliol.  One  evening  in 
1888,  after  the  men  had  come  in  from  shooting,  we 

*The  Countess  of  Granard. 
flhe  Hon.  Mrs.  KeppeL 

JMrs.  McKenna,  the  daughter  of  Lady  Jekyll,  and  niece  of  Lady 
Horner. 

[90] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

were  having  tea  in  the  large  marble  hall  at  Gos- 
ford.*  I  generally  wore  an  accordion  skirt  at  tea, 
as  Lord  Wemyss  liked  me  to  dance  to  him.  Some 
one  was  playing  the  piano  and  I  was  improvising 
in  and  out  of  the  chairs,  when,  in  the  act  of  making 
a  final  curtsey,  I  caught  my  foot  in  my  skirt  and 
fell  at  the  feet  of  an  old  clergyman  seated  in  the 
window.  As  I  got  up,  a  loud  "Damn!"  resounded 
through  the  room.  Recovering  my  presence  of 
mind,  I  said,  looking  up : 

"You  are  a  clergyman  and  I  am  afraid  I  have 
shocked  you!" 

"Not  at  all,"  he  replied.  "I  hope  you  will  go  on; 
I  like  your  dancing  extremely." 

I  provoked  much  amusement  by  asking  the 
family  afterwards  if  the  parson  whose  presence  I 
had  failed  to  notice  was  their  minister  at  Aberlady. 
I  then  learnt  that  he  was  the  famous  Dr.  Benjamin 
Jowett,  Master  of  Balliol. 

Before  telling  how  my  friendship  with  the  Master 
developed,  I  shall  go  back  to  the  events  in  Oxford 
which  gave  him  his  insight  into  human  beings  and 
caused  him  much  quiet  suiFering. 

*Gosford  is  the  Earl  of  Wemyss'  country  place  and  is  situated  be- 
tween Edinburgh  and  North  Berwick. 

[91] 


« 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

In  1852  the  death  of  Dr.  Jenkyns  caused  the 
Mastership  at  Balliol  to  become  vacant.  Jowett's 
fame  as  a  tutor  was  great,  but  with  it  there  had 
spread  a  suspicion  of  "rationalism."  Persons  whis- 
pered that  the  great  tutor  was  tainted  with  German 
views.  This  reacted  unduly  upon  his  colleagues; 
and,  when  the  election  came,  he  was  rejected  by  a 
single  vote.  His  disappointment  was  deep,  but  he 
threw  himself  more  than  ever  into  his  work.  He 
told  me  that  a  favourite  passage  of  his  in  Marcus 
Aurelius — "Be  always  doing  something  serviceable 
to  mankind  and  let  this  constant  generosity  be  your 
only  pleasure,  not  forgetting  a  due  regard  to  God" 
— had  been  of  great  help  to  him  at  that  time. 

The  lectures  which  his  pupils  cared  most  about 
were  those  on  Plato  and  St.  Paul;  both  as  tutor 
and  examiner  he  may  be  said  to  have  stimulated  the 
study  of  Plato  in  Oxford:  he  made  it  a  rival  to  that 
of  Aristotle. 

"Aristotle  is  dead,"  he  would  say,  "but  Plato  is 
alive." 

Hitherto  he  had  published  little — an  anonymous 

essay  on  Pascal  and  a  few  literary  articles — ^but 

under  the  stimulus  of  disappointment  he  finished 

his  share  of  the  edition  of  St.  Paul's  Epistles,  which 

[92] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

had  been  undertaken  in  conjunction  with  Arthur 
Stanley.  Both  produced  their  books  in  1855;  but 
while  Stanley's  Corinthians  evoked  languid  in- 
terest, Jowett's  Galatians,  Thessalonians  and 
Romans  provoked  a  clamour  among  his  friends  and 
enemies.  About  that  time  he  was  appointed  to  the 
Oxford  Greek  Chair,  which  pleased  him  much ;  but 
his  delight  was  rather  dashed  by  a  hostile  article  in 
the  Quarterly  Review,  abusing  him  and  his  religious 
writings.  The  Vice- Chancellor,  Dr.  Cotton,  re- 
quired from  him  a  fresh  signature  of  the  Articles 
of  the  Church  of  England.  At  the  interview,  when 
addressed  by  two  men — one  pompously  explaining 
that  it  was  a  necessary  act  if  he  was  to  retain  his 
cloth  and  the  other  apologising  for  inflicting  a 
humiliation  upon  him — he  merely  said: 

*'Give  me  the  pen." 

His  essay  on  The  Interpretation  of  Scripture, 
which  came  out  in  1860  in  the  famous  volume, 
Essays  and  Reviews,  increased  the  cry  of  heter- 
odoxy against  him;  and  the  Canons  of  Christ 
Church,  including  Dr.  Pusey,  persisted  in  withhold- 
ing from  him  an  extra  salary,  without  which  the 
endowment  of  the  Greek  Chair  was  worth  £40. 
This  scandal  was  not  removed  till  1864,  after  he 

[93] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

had  been  excluded  from  the  university  pulpit.  He 
continued  working  hard  at  his  translation  of  the 
whole  of  Plato;  he  had  already  published  notes  on 
the  Republic  and  analyses  of  the  dialogue.  This 
took  up  all  his  time  till  1878,  when  he  became  Mas- 
ter of  Balliol. 

The  worst  of  the  Essays  and  Reviews  contro- 
versy was  that  it  did  an  injustice  to  Jowett's  repu- 
tation. For  years  people  thought  that  he  was  a 
great  heresiarch  presiding  over  a  college  of  infidels 
and  heretics.  His  impeached  article  on  The 
Interpretation  of  Scripture  might  to-day  be  pub- 
lished by  any  clergyman.  His  crime  lay  in  saying 
that  the  Bible  should  be  criticised  like  other  books. 

In  his  introduction  to  the  Republic  of  Plato  he 
expresses  the  same  thought: 

A  Greek  in  the  age  of  Plato  attached  no  impor- 
tance to  the  question  whether  his  religion  was  an 
historical  fact.  .  .  .  Men  only  began  to  suspect 
that  the  narratives  of  Homer  and  Hesiod  were 
fictions  when  they  recognised  them  to  be  immoral. 
And  so  in  all  religions:  the  consideration  of  their 
morality  comes  first,  afterwards  the  truth  of  the 
documents  in  which  they  are  recorded,  or  of  the 
events,  natural  or  supernatural,  which  are  told  of 
them.  But  in  modern  times,  and  in  Protestant 
countries  perhaps  more  than  Catholic,  we  have  been 

[91] 


i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

too  much  inclined  to  identify  the  historical  with 
the  moral;  and  some  have  refused  to  believe  in  re- 
ligion at  all,  unless  a  superhuman  accuracy  was  dis- 
cerned in  every  part  of  the  record.  The  facts  of  an 
ancient  or  religious  history  are  amongst  the  most 
important  of  all  facts,  but  they  are  frequently  un- 
certain, and  we  only  learn  the  true  lesson  which  is 
to  be  gathered  from  them  when  we  place  ourselves 
above  them. 

Some  one  writes  in  the  Literary  Supplement  of 
the  Times  to-day,  11th  December,  1919: 

"An  almost  animal  indifference  to  mental  refine- 
ment characterises  our  great  public." 

This  is  quite  true,  and  presumably  was  true  in 
Jowett's  day,  not  only  of  the  great  public  but  of  the 
Established  Church. 

Catherine  Marsh,  the  author  of  The  Life  of 
Hedley  Vicars,  wrote  to  Jowett  assuring  him  of 
her  complete  belief  in  the  sincerity  of  his  religious 
views  and  expressing  indignation  that  he  should 
have  had  to  sign  the  thirty-nine  Articles  again.  I 
give  his  reply.  The  postscript  is  characteristic  of 
his  kindliness,  gentle  temper  and  practical  wisdom. 

March  IQth,  1864. 
Dear  Madam^ 

Accept  my  best  thanks  for  your  kind  letter,  and 
for  the  books  you  have  been  so  good  as  to  send  me. 

[95] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  certainly  hope  (though  conscious  of  how  little] 
I  am  able  to  do)  that  I  shall  devote  my  life  to  the! 
service  of  God,  and  of  the  youths  of  Oxford,  whom] 
I  desire  to  regard  as  a  trust  which  He  has  given  me. 
But  I  am  afraid,  if  I  may  judge  from  the  tenour  of  I 
your  letter,  that  I  should  not  express  myself  alto-^ 
gether  as  you  do  on  religious  subjects.    Perhaps  the  j 
difference  may  be  more  than  one  of  words.    I  willf 
not,  therefore,  enter  further  into  the  grave  question 
suggested  by  you,  except  to  say  that  I  am  sure  I 
shall  be  the  better  for  your  kind  wishes  and  reading! 
your  books.  ' 

The  recent  matter  of  Oxford  is  of  no  real  conse- 
quence, and  is  not  worth  speaking  about,  though  I 
am  very  grately  to  you  and  others  for  feeling  "in- 
dignant" at  the  refusal. 

With  sincere  respect  for  your  labours, 
Believe  me,  dear  Madam, 

Most  truly  yours, 

B.  JOWETT, 

P.S. — I  have  read  your  letter  again!  I  think 
that  I  ought  to  tell  you  that,  unless  you  had  been 
a  complete  stranger,  you  would  not  have  had  so 
good  an  opinion  of  me.  I  feel  the  kindness  of  your 
letter,  but  at  the  same  time,  if  I  believed  what  you 
say  of  me,  I  should  soon  become  a  "very  complete 
rascal."  Any  letter  like  yours,  which  is , written 
with  such  earnestness,  and  in  a  time  of  illness,  is  a 
serious  call  to  think  about  religion.  I  do  not  intend 
to  neglect  this  because  I  am  not  inclined  to  use  the 
same  language. 

[96] 


C2iSL.  N7Pr^ 


EARL  OF  PEMBROKE:   MEMBER   OF  THE   SOULS 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

When  Jowett  became  Master,  his  pupils  and 
friends  gathered  round  him  and  overcame  the 
Church  chatter.  He  was  the  hardest-working  tutor, 
Vice-Chancellor  and  Master  that  Oxford  ever  had, 
Balliol,  under  his  regime,  grew  in  numbers  and  pro- 
duced more  scholars,  more  thinkers  and  more  polit- 
ical men  of  note  than  any  other  college  in  the 
university.  He  had  authority  and  a  unique 
prestige.  It  was  said  of  Dr.  Whewell  of  Trinity 
that  "knowledge  was  his  forte  and  omniscience  his 
foible" ;  the  same  might  have  been  said  of  the 
Master  and  was  expressed  in  a  college  epigram, 
written  by  an  undergraduate.  After  Jowett's 
death  I  cut  the  following  from  an  Oxford  maga- 
zine: 

The  author  of  a  famous  and  often  misquoted 
verse  upon  Professor  Jowett  has  written  me  a  note 
upon  his  lines  which  may  be  appropriately  inserted 
here.  "Several  versions,"  he  writes,  "have  appeared 
lately,  and  my  vanity  does  not  consider  them  im- 
provements.   The  lines  were  written: 

*First  come  I,  my  name  is  Jowett, 
There's  no  knowledge  but  I  know  it. 
I  am  Master  of  this  College, 
What  I  don't  know— is  not  knowledge.' 

"The  Tirst  come  I'  referred  to  its  being  a  masque 
of  the  College  in  which  fellows,  scholars,  etc.,  ap- 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

peared  in  order.  The  short,  disconnected  sentences 
were  intentional,  as  being  characteristic.  Such  a 
line  as  *A11  that  can  be  known  I  know  it'  (which 
some  newspapers  substituted  for  line  2)  would 
express  a  rather  vulgar,  Whewellian  foible  of  om- 
niscience, which  was  quite  foreign  to  the  Master's 
nature;  the  line  as  originally  written  was  intended 
to  express  the  rather  sad,  brooding  manner  the 
Master  had  of  giving  his  oracles,  as  though  he  were 
a  spectator  of  all  time  and  existence,  and  had  pene- 
trated into  the  mystery  of  things.  Of  course,  the 
last  line  expressed,  with  necessary  exaggeration, 
what,  as  a  fact,  was  his  attitude  to  certain  subjects 
in  which  he  refused  to  be  interested,  such  as  modern 
German  metaphysics,  philology,  and  Greek  in- 
scriptions." 

When  I  met  the  Master  in  1887,  I  was  young 
and  he  was  old;  but,  whether  from  insolence  or  in- 
sight, I  never  felt  this  difference.  I  do  not  think 
I  was  a  good  judge  of  age,  as  I  have  always  liked 
older  people  than  myself;  and  I  imagine  it  was 
because  of  this  unconsciousness  that  we  became  such 
wonderful  friends.  Jowett  was  younger  than  half 
the  young  people  I  know  now  and  we  understood 
each  other  perfectly.  If  I  am  hasty  in  making 
friends  and  skip  the  preface,  I  always  read  it 
afterwards. 

A  good  deal  of  controversy  has  arisen  over  the^ 
[98] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Master's  claim  to  greatness  by  some  of  the  younger 
generation.  It  is  not  denied  that  Jowett  was  a  man 
of  influence.  Men  as  different  as  Huxley,  Symonds, 
Lord  Lansdowne,  Lord  Bowen,  Lord  Milner,  Sir 
Robert  Morier  and  others  have  told  me  in  reverent 
and  affectionate  terms  how  much  they  owed  to  him 
and  to  his  influence.  It  is  not  denied  that  he  was  a 
kind  man ;  infinitely  generous,  considerate  and  good 
about  money.  It  may  be  denied  that  he  was  a  fine 
scholar  of  the  first  rank,  such  as  Munro  or  Jebb, 
although  no  one  denies  his  contributions  to  scholar- 
ship ;  but  the  real  question  remains :  was  he  a  great 
man?  There  are  big  men,  men  of  intellect,  intel- 
lectual men,  men  of  talent  and  men  of  action;  but 
the  great  man  is  difficult  to  find,  and  it  needs — 
apart  from  discernment — a  certain  greatness  to 
find  him.  The  Almighty  is  a  wonderful  handi- 
capper:  He  will  not  give  us  everything.  I  have 
never  met  a  woman  of  supreme  beauty  with  more 
than  a  mediocre  intellect,  by  which  I  do  not  mean 
intelligence.  There  may  be  some,  but  I  am  only 
writing  my  own  life,  and  I  have  not  met  them.  A 
person  of  magnetism,  temperament  and  quick  in- 
telligence may  have  neither  intellect  nor  character. 
I  have  known  one  man  whose  genius  lay  in  his  rapid 

[99] 


1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

and  sensitive  understanding,  real  wit,  amazing  | 
charm  and  apparent  candour,  But  whose  meanness, 
ingratitude  and  instability  injured  everything  he  I 
touched.  You  can  only  discover  ingratitude  or  in- 
stability after  years  of  experience,  and  few  of  us,  I 
am  glad  to  think,  ever  suspect  meanness  in  our 
fellow-creatures;  the  discovery  is  as  painful  when 
you  find  it  as  the  discovery  of  a  worm  iji  the  heart 
of  a  rose.  A  man  may  have  a  fine  character  and  be 
taciturn,  stubborn  and  stupid.  Another  may  be 
brilliant,  sunny  and  generous,  but  self-indulgent, 
heartless  and  a  liar.  There  is  no  contradiction  I 
have  not  met  with  in  men  and  women:  the  rarest 
combination  is  to  find  fundamental  humbleness, 
freedom  from  self,  intrepid  courage  and  the  power 
to  love;  when  you  come  upon  these,  you  may  be 
quite  sure  that  you  are  in  the  presence  of  greatness. 
Human  beings  are  made  up  of  a  good  many 
pieces.  Nature,  character,  intellect  and  tempera- 
ment: roughly  speaking,  these  headings  cover  every 
one.  The  men  and  women  whom  I  have  loved  best 
have  been  those  whose  natures  were  rich  and  sweet; 
but,  alas,  with  a  few  exceptions,  all  of  them  have 
had  gimcrack  characters;  and  the  qualities  which  I 
[100] 


m\ 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

have  loved  in  them  have  been  ultimately  submerged 
by  self-indulgence. 

The  present  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  is  one  of 
these  exceptions :  he  has  a  sweet  and  rich  nature,  a 
fine  temper  and  is  quite  unspoilable.  I  have  only 
one  criticism  to  make  of  Randall  Davidson:  he  has 
too  much  moderation  for  his  intellect ;  but  I  daresay 
he  would  not  have  steered  the  Church  through  so 
many  shallows  if  he  had  not  had  this  attribute.  I 
have  known  him  since  I  was  ten  (he  christened, 
confirmed,  married  and  buried  us  all) ;  and  his  faith 
in  such  qualities  of  head  and  heart  as  I  possess  has 
never  wavered.  He  reminds  me  of  Jowett  in  the 
soundness  of  his  nature  and  his  complete  absence 
of  vanity,  although  no  two  men  were  ever  less  alike. 
The  first  element  of  greatness  is  fundamental 
humbleness  (this  should  not  be  confused  with  ser- 
vihty) ;  the  second  is  freedom  from  self;  the  third  is 
intrepid  courage,  which,  taken  in  its  widest  inter- 
pretation, generally  goes  with  truth;  and  the 
fourth,  the  power  to  love,  although  I  have  put  it 
last,  is  the  rarest.  If  these  go  to  the  makings  of  a 
great  man,  Jowett  possessed  them  all.  He  might 
have  mocked  at  the  confined  comprehension  of  Ox- 
ford and  exposed  the  arrogance,  vanity  and  conven- 

[101] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

tionality  of  the  Church ;  intellectual  scorn  and  even 
bitterness  might  have  come  to  him ;  but,  with  infinite 
patience  and  imperturbable  serenity,  he  preserved 
his  faith  in  his  fellow-creatures. 

"There  was  in  him  a  simple  trust  in  the  word  of 
other  men  that  won  for  him  a  devotion  and  service 
which  discipline  could  never  have  evoked."* 

Whether  his  criticisms  of  the  Bible  fluttered  the 
faith  of  the  flappers  in  Oxford,  or  whether  his  long 
silences  made  the  undergraduates  more  stupid  than' 
they  would  otherwise  have  been,  I  care  little:  I  only 
know  that  he  was  what  I  call  great  and  that  he  had 
an  ennobling  influence  over  my  life.  He  was  appre- 
hensive of  my  social  reputation;  and  in  our  corre- 
spondence, which  started  directly  we  parted  at 
Gosford,  he  constantly  gave  me  wise  advice.  He 
was  extremely  simple-minded  and  had  a  pathetic 
belief  in  the  fine  manners,  high  tone,  wide  education 
and  lofty  example  of  the  British  aristocracy.  It 
shocked  him  that  I  did  not  share  it;  I  felt  his  warn- 
ings much  as  a  duck  swimming  might  feel  the 
duckings  of  a  hen  on  the  bank ;  nevertheless,  I  loved 
his  exhortations.    In  one  of  his  letters  he  begs  me 

*I   read  these  words   in   an   obituary   notice  the   other   day  and 
thought  how  much  I  should  like  to  have  had  them  written  of  me. 

[102] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

to  give  up  the  idea  of  shooting  bears  with  the  Prince 
of  Wales  in  Russia.  It  was  the  first  I  had  heard 
of  it!  In  another  of  his  letters  to  me  he  ended 
thus: 

But  I  must  not  bore  you  with  good  advice. 
Child,  why  don't  you  make  a  better  use  of  your 
noble  gifts?  And  yet  you  do  not  do  anything 
wrong — only  what  other  people  do,  but  with  more 
success.  And  you  are  very  faithful  to  your  friends. 
And  so,  God  bless  you. 

He  was  much  shocked  by  hearing  that  I  smoked. 
This  is  what  he  says: 

What  are  you  doing — breaking  a  young  man's 
heart ;  not  the  first  time  nor  the  second,  nor  the  third 
— I  believe  ?  Poor  fellows !  they  have  paid  you  the 
highest  compliment  that  a  gentleman  can  pay  a 
lady,  and  are  deserving  of  all  love.  Shall  I  give 
you  a  small  piece  of  counsel?  It  is  better  for  you 
and  a  duty  to  them  that  their  disappointed  passions 
should  never  be  known  to  a  single  person,  for  as 
you  are  well  aware,  one  confidante  means  every 
body,  and  the  good-natured  world,  who  are  of 
course  very  jealous  of  you,  will  call  you  cruel  and 
a  breaker  of  hearts,  etc.  I  do  not  consider  this 
advice,  but  merely  a  desire  to  make  you  see  things 
as  others  see  them  or  nearly.  The  Symonds  girls 
at  Davos  told  me  that  you  smoked!!!  at  which  I 
am  shocked,  because  it  is  not  the  manner  of  ladies 
in  England.     I  always  imagine  you  with  a  long 

[103] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

hookah  puffing,  puffing,  since  I  heard  this;  give  it 
up,  my  dear  Margaret — it  will  get  you  a  bad  name. 
Please  do  observe  that  I  am  always  serious  when 
I  try  to  make  fun.  I  hope  you  are  enjoying  life 
and  friends  and  the  weather:  and  believe  me 

Ever  yours  truly, 

B.    JOWETT. 

He  asked  me  once  if  I  ever  told  any  one  that  he 
wrote  to  me,  to  which  I  answered: 

"I  should  rather  think  so!  I  tell  every  railway 
porter !" 

This  distressed  him.  I  told  him  that  he  was  evi- 
dently ashamed  of  my  love  for  him,  but  that  I  was 
proud  of  it. 

JowETT  {after  a  long  silence) :  "Would  you  like 
to  have  your  life  written,  Margaret?" 

Mahgot:  "Not  much,  unless  it  told  the  whole 
truth  about  me  and  every  one  and  was  indiscreet. 
If  I  could  have  a  biographer  like  Froude  or  Lord 
Hervey,  it  would  be  divine,  as  no  one  would  be 
bored  by  reading  it.  Who  will  you  choose  to  write 
your  life,  Master?" 

Jowett:  "No  one  will  be  in  a  position  to  write 

my  life,  Margaret."     (For  some  time  he  called  me 

Margaret;  he  thought  it  sounded  less  familiar  than 

Margot.) 

[104] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Margot:  "What  nonsense!  How  can  you  pos- 
sibly prevent  it?  If  you  are  not  very  good  to  me, 
I  may  even  write  it  myself!" 

JowETT  (smiling) :  "If  I  could  have  been  sure 
of  that,  I  need  not  have  burnt  all  my  correspond- 
ence! But  you  are  an  idle  young  lady  and  would 
certainly  never  have  concentrated  on  so  dull  a 
subject." 

Margot  {indignantly) :  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
you  have  burnt  all  George  Eliot's  letters,  Matthew 
Arnold's,  Swinburne's,  Temple's  and  Tenny- 
son's?" 

IJowett:  "I  have  kept  one  or  two  of  George 
Shot's  and  Florence  Nightingale's;  but  great  men 
o  not  write  good  letters." 
Margot:  "Do  you  know  Florence  Nightingale? 
I  wish  I  did." 

JowETT  {evidently  surprised  that  I  had  never 
heard  the  gossip  connecting  his  name  with  Florence 
Nightingale) :  "Why  do  you  want  to  know  her?" 

Margot:  "Because  she  was  in  love  with  my 
friend  George  Pembroke's*  father." 

JowETT  {guardedly) :  "Oh,  indeed!    I  will  take 

*George,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  uncle  of  the  present  Earl. 

[105] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

you  to  see  her  and  then  you  can  ask  her  about  all 
this." 

Maegot:  "I  should  love  that!  But  perhaps  she 
would  not  care  for  me." 

Jowett:  "I  do  not  think  she  will  care  for  you, 
but  would  you  mind  that?" 

Maegot:  "Oh,  not  at  all!  I  am  quite  unf em- 
nine  in  those  ways.  When  people  leave  the  room, 
I  don't  say  to  myself,  "I  wonder  if  they  like  me," 
but,  "I  wonder  if  I  like  them." 

This  made  an  impression  on  the  Master,  or  I 
should  not  have  remembered  it.  Some  weeks  after 
this  he  took  me  to  see  Florence  Nightingale  in  her 
house  in  South  Street.  Groups  of  hospital  nurses 
were  waiting  outside  in  the  hall  to  see  her.  When 
we  went  in  I  noted  her  fine,  handsome,  well-bred 
face.  She  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  with  a  white  shawl 
round  her  shoulders  and,  after  shaking  hands  with 
her,  the  Master  and  I  sat  down.  She  pointed  to 
the  beautiful  Richmond  print  of  Sidney  Herbert, 
hanging  above  her  mantelpiece,  and  said  to  me: 

"I  am  interested  to  meet  you,  as  I  hear  George 

Pembroke,  the  son  of  my  old  and  dear  friend,  is 

devoted  to  you.    Will  you  tell  me  what  he  is  like?" 

[106] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  described  Lord  Pembroke,  while  Jowett  sat  in 
stony  silence  till  we  left  the  house. 

One  day,  a  few  months  after  this  visit,  I  was 
driving  in  the  vicinity  of  Oxford  with  the  Master 
and  I  said  to  him : 

"You  never  speak  of  your  relations  to  me  and 
you  never  tell  me  whether  you  were  in  love  when 
you  were  young;  I  have  told  you  so  much  about 
myself!" 

Jowett:  "Have  you  ever  heard  that  I  was  in 
love  with  any  one?" 

I  did  not  like  to  tell  him  that,  since  our  visit  to 
Florence  Nightingale,  I  had  heard  that  he  had 
wanted  to  marry  her,  so  I  said : 

"Yes,  I  have  been  told  you  were  in  love  once." 

Rl  Jowett:  "Only  once?" 
Margot:  "Yes." 
I  Complete  silence  fell  upon  us  after  this:    I  broke 
t  at  last  by  saying: 
"What  was  your  lady-love  like,  dear  Master?" 
Jowett:  "Violent     .     .     .    very  violent." 
After  this  disconcerting  description,  we  drove 
back  to  Balliol. 

Mrs.  Humphry  Ward's  novel  Robert  Elsmere 
had  just  been  published  and  was  dedicated  to  my 

[107] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


sister  Laura  and  Thomas  Hill  Green,  Jowett's  rival 

in  Oxford.    This  is  what  the  Master  wrote  to  me 

about  it: 

''New,  28,  1888. 
Deae  Miss  Tennant, 

I  have  just  finished  examining  for  the  Balliol 
Scholarships:  a  great  institution  of  which  you  may 
possibly  have  heard.  To  what  shall  I  liken  it?  It 
is  not  unlike  a  man  casting  into  the  sea  a  great  drag- 
net, and  when  it  is  full  of  fish,  pulling  it  up  again 
and  taking  out  fishes,  good,  bad  and  indifferent, 
and  throwing  the  bad  and  indifferent  back  again 
into  the  sea.  Among  the  good  fish  there  have  been 
Archbishop  Tait,  Dean  Stanley,  A.  H.  Clough, 
Mr.  Arnold,  Lord  Coleridge,  Lord  Justice  Bowen, 
Mr.  Ilbert,  &c.,  '&c.,  &c.  The  institution  was 
founded  about  sixty  years  ago. 

I  have  been  dining  alone  rather  dismally,  and 
now  I  shall  imagine  that  I  receive  a  visit  from  a 
young  lady  about  twenty-three  years  of  age,  who 
enlivens  me  by  her  prattle.  Is  it  her  or  her  angel? 
But  I  believe  that  she  is  an  angel,  pale,  volatile  and 
like  Laodamia  in  Wordsworth,  ready  to  disappear 
at  a  moment's  notice.  I  could  write  a  description 
of  her,  but  am  not  sure  that  I  could  do  her  justice. 

I  wish  that  I  could  say  anything  to  comfort  you, 
my  dear  Margot,  or  even  to  make  you  laugh.  But 
no  one  can  comfort  another.  The  memory  of  a 
beautiful  character  is  "a  joy  for  ever,"  especially 
of  one  who  was  bound  to  you  in  ties  of  perfect 
amity.     I  saw  what  your  sister*  was  from  two 

*Mrs.  Gordon  Duff. 

[108] 


I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

short  conversations  which  I  had  with  her,  and  from 
the  manner  in  which  she  was  spoken  of  at  Davos. 

I  send  you  the  book*  which  I  spoke  of,  though  I 
hardly  know  whether  it  is  an  appropriate  present; 
at  any  rate  I  do  not  expect  you  to  read  it.  It  has 
taken  me  the  last  year  to  revise  and,  in  parts,  re- 
write it.  The  great  interest  of  it  is  that  it  belongs 
to  a  different  age  of  the  human  mind,  in  which 
there  is  so  much  like  and  also  unlike  ourselves. 
Many  of  our  commonplaces  and  common  words  are 
being  thought  out  for  the  first  time  by  Plato.  Add 
to  this  that  in  the  original  this  book  is  the  most  per- 
fect work  of  art  in  the  world.  I  wonder  whether  it 
will  have  any  meaning  or  interest  for  you. 

You  asked  me  once  whether  I  desired  to  make  a 
Sister  of  Charity  of  you.  Certainly  not  (although 
there  are  worse  occupations) ;  nor  do  I  desire  to 
make  anything.  But  your  talking  about  plans  of 
life  does  lead  me  to  think  of  what  would  be  best 
and  happiest  for  you.  I  do  not  object  to  the  hunt- 
ing and  going  to  Florence  and  Rome,  but  should 
there  not  be  some  higher  end  to  which  these  are  the 
steps?  I  think  that  you  might  happily  fill  up  a 
great  portion  of  your  life  with  literature  (I  am  con- 
vinced that  you  have  considerable  talent  and  might 
become  eminent)  and  a  small  portion  with  works  of 
benevolence,  just  to  keep  us  in  love  and  charity 
with  our  poor  neighbours;  and  the  rest  I  do  not 
grudge  to  society  and  hunting.  Do  you  think  that 
I  am  a  hard  taskmaster?  Not  very,  I  think.  More 
especially  as  you  will  not  be  led  away  by  my  good 
advice.    You  see  that  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  you 

•Plato's  Republic. 

[109] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

hunting  and  ballet-dancing  when  you  are  *'fair,  fat 
and  forty-five."  Do  prepare  yourself  for  that  awful 
age. 

I  went  to  see  Mrs.  H.  Ward  the  other  day:  she 
insists  on  doing  battle  with  the  reviewer  in  the 
Quarterly,  and  is  thinking  of  another  novel,  of 
which  the  subject  will  be  the  free-thinking  of  honest 
working-men  in  Paris  and  elsewhere.  People  say 
that  in  Robert  Elsmere  Rose  is  intended  for  you, 
Catherine  for  your  sister  Laura,  the  Squire  for 
Mark  Pattison,  the  Provost  for  me,  etc.,  and  Mr. 
Grey  for  Professor  Green.  All  the  portraits  are 
about  equally  unlike  the  originals. 

Good-bye,  you  have  been  sitting  with  me  for 
nearly  an  hour,  and  now,  like  Laodamia  or  Protesi- 
laus,  you  disappear.  I  have  been  the  better  for 
your  company.  One  serious  word:  May  God  bless 
you  and  help  you  in  this  and  every  other  great  hurt 
of  life. 

Ever  yours, 

B.  JOWETT. 

I  will  publish  all  his  letters  to  me  together,  as, 
however  delightful  letters  may  be,  I  find  they  bore 
me  when  they  are  scattered  all  through  an  auto- 
biography. 

March  11th,  1889. 
My  dear  Margaret, 

As  you  say,  friendships  grow  dull  if  two  persons 
do  not  care  to  write  to  one  another.  I  was  be- 
ginning to  think  that  you  resented  my  censorious 
criticisms  on  your  youthful  life  and  happiness. 

[110] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Can  youth  be  serious  without  ceasing  to  be  youth? 
I  think  it  may.  The  desire  to  promote  the  happi- 
ness of  others  rather  than  your  own  may  be  always 
"breaking  in."  As  my  poor  sister  (of  whom  I  will 
talk  to  you  some  day)  would  say:  "When  others 
are  happy,  then  I  am  happy."  She  used  to  com- 
mend the  religion  of  Sydney  Smith — "Never  to  let 
a  day  pass  without  doing  a  kindness  to  some  body" 
— and  I  think  that  you  understand  something  about 
this;  or  you  would  not  be  so  popular  and  beloved. 

You  ask  me  what  persons  I  have  seen  lately:  I 
doubt  whether  they  would  interest  you.  Mr.  Well- 
don,  the  Headmaster  of  Harrow,  a  very  honest  and 
able  man  with  a  long  life  before  him,  and  if  he 
is  not  too  honest  and  open,  not  unlikely  to  be  an 
Archbishop  of  Canterbury.  Mr.  J.  M.  Wilson, 
Headmaster  of  Clifton  College — a  very  kind^ 
genial  and  able  man — ^there  is  a  great  deal  of  him 
and  in  him — not  a  man  of  good  judgment,  but  very 
devoted — a  first-rate  man  in  his  way.  Then  I  have 
seen  a  good  deal  of  Lord  Rosebery — ^very  able, 
shy,  sensitive,  ambitious,  the  last  two  qualities 
rather  at  war  with  each  other — very  likely  a  future 
Prime  Minister.  I  like  Lady  Rosebery  too — ^very 
sensible  and  high-principled,  not  at  all  inclined  to 
give  up  her  Judaism  to  please  the  rest  of  the  world. 
They  are  rather  overloaded  with  wealth  and  fine 
houses :  they  are  both  very  kind.  I  also  like  Lady 
Leconfield,*  whom  I  saw  at  Mentone.  Then  I  paid 
a  visit  to  Tennyson,  who  has  had  a  lingering  illness 
of  six  months,  perhaps  fatal,  as  he  is  eighty  years 

•Lady  Leconfield  was  a  sister  of  Lord  Rosebery's  and  one  of  my 
dearest  friends. 

[Ill] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

of  age.  It  was  pleasing  to  see  how  he  takes  it,  very 
patient  and  without  fear  of  death,  unlike  his  former 
state  of  mind.  Though  he  is  so  sensitive,  he  seemed 
to  me  to  bear  his  illness  like  a  great  man.  He  has 
a  volume  of  poems  waiting  to  come  out — some  of 
them  as  good  as  he  ever  wrote.  Was  there  ever  an 
octogenarian  poet  before? 

Doctor  Johnson  used  to  say  that  he  never  in  his 
life  had  eaten  as  much  fruit  as  he  desired.  I  think 
I  never  talked  to  you  as  much  as  I  desired.  You 
once  told  me  that  you  would  show  me  your  novel  * 
Is  it  a  reality  or  a  myth?  I  should  be  interested  to 
see  it  if  you  like  to  send  me  that  or  any  other  writ- 
ing of  yours. 

Robert  Elsmere,  as  the  authoress  tells  me,  has 
sold  60,000  in  England  and  400,000  in  America! 
It  has  considerable  merit,  but  its  success  is  really 
due  to  its  saying  what  everybody  is  thinking.  I  am 
astonished  at  her  knowing  so  much  about  German 
theology — she  is  a  real  scholar  and  takes  up  things 
of  the  right  sort.  I  do  not  believe  that  Mrs.  Ward 
ever  said  "she  had  pulverised  Christianity."  These 
things  are  invented  about  people  by  the  orthodox, 
i.  e.,  the  infidel  world,  in  the  hope  that  they  will  do 
them  harm.  What  do  you  think  of  being  "laughed 
to  death"?    It  would  be  like  being  tickled  to  death. 

Good-bye, 

Ever  yours  truly, 

B.  JOWIETT. 

*I  began  two,  but  they  were  not  at  all  clever  and  have  long  since 
disappeared. 

[112] 


ID  MIDDLETOX,  BETTER   KNOWX  AS  ST.  JOHK  BRODRICK 
J    MER  SECRETARY  OF  STATE   FOR  WAR 


JOHK  ADDINGTON  SYMOKDS, 
WHO  ENCOURAGED  MARGOt's 
LITERARY  ENDEAVOURS  L 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Balliol  College^ 

May  22nd,  1891* 
My  dear  Margaret, 

It  was  very  good  of  you  to  write  me  such  a  nice 
note.  I  hope  you  are  better.  I  rather  beHeve  in 
people  being  able  to  cure  themselves  of  many  ill- 
nesses if  they  are  tolerably  prudent  and  have  a 
great  spirit. 

I  liked  your  two  friends  who  visited  me  last 
Sunday,  and  shall  hope  to  make  them  friends  of 
mine.  Asquith  is  a  capital  fellow,  and  has  abilities 
which  may  rise  to  the  highest  things  in  the  law  and 
politics.  He  is  also  very  pleasant  socially.  I  like 
your  lady  friend.  She  has  both  "Sense  and  Sensi- 
bility," and  is  free  from  "Pride  and  Prejudice." 
She  told  me  that  she  had  been  brought  up  by  an 
Evangelical  grandmother,  and  is  none  the  worse 
for  it. 

I  begin  to  think  bed  is  a  very  nice  place,  and  I  see 
a  great  deal  of  it,  not  altogether  from  laziness,  but 
because  it  is  the  only  way  in  which  I  am  able  to 
work. 

I  have  just  read  the  life  of  Newman,  who  was 
a  strange  character.  To  me  he  seems  to  have  been 
the  most  artificial  man  of  our  generation,  full  of 
ecclesiastical  loves  and  hatred.  Considering  what 
he  really  was,  it  is  wonderful  what  a  space  he  has 
filled  in  the  eyes  of  mankind.  In  speculation  he  was 
habitually  untruthful  and  not  much  better  in  prac- 
tice. His  conscience  had  been  taken  out,  and  the 
Church  put  in  its  place.  Yet  he  was  a  man  of 
genius,  and  a  good  man  in  the  sense  of  being  dis- 
interested.    Truth  is  very  often  troublesome,  but 

[113] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

neither  the  world  nor  the  individual  can  get  on 
without  it.  I 

Here  is  the  postman  appearing  at  12  o'clock,  as 
disagreeable  a  figure  as  the  tax-gatherer. 

May  you  have  good  sleep  and  pleasant  dreams. 
I  shall  still  look  forward  to  seeing  you  with  Lady 
Wemyss. 

Believe  me  always, 

Yours  affectionately, 

B.  JOWETT. 

I 

Balliol  College,  * 

Sep,  8,  1892. 
My  dear  Margaret, 

Your  kind  letter  was  a  very  sweet  consolation  to 
me.    It  was  like  you  to  think  of  a  friend  in  trouble. 

Poor  Nettleship,  whom  we  have  lost,  was  a  man 
who  cannot  be  replaced — certainly  not  in  Oxford. 
He  was  a  very  good  man,  and  had  a  considerable 
touch  of  genius  in  him.  He  seems  to  have  died 
bravely,  telling  the  guides  not  to  be  cowards,  but  to 
save  their  lives.  He  also  sang  to  them  to  keep  them 
awake,  saying  (this  was  so  like  him)  that  he  had  no 
voice,  but  that  he  would  do  his  best.  He  probably 
sang  that  song  of  Salvator  Rosa's  which  we  have 
so  often  heard  from  him.  He  was  wonderfully  be- 
loved by  the  undergraduates,  because  they  knew 
that  he  cared  for  them  more  than  for  anything  else 
in  the  world. 

Of  his  writings  there  is  not  much,  except  what 
you  have  read,  and  a  long  essay  on  Plato  in  a  book 
called  Hellenism — very  good.  He  was  beginning 
to  write,  and  I  think  would  have  written  well.    He 

[114] 


I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

was  also  an  excellent  speaker  and  lecturer — Mr, 
Asquith  would  tell  you  about  him. 

I  have  received  many  letters  about  him — but 
none  of  them  has  touched  me  as  much  as  yours. 
Thank  you,  dear. 

I  see  that  you  are  in  earnest  about  writing — no 
slipshod  or  want  of  connection.  Writing  requires 
boundless  leisure,  and  is  an  infinite  labour,  yet  there 
is  also  a  very  great  pleasure  in  it.  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  read  your  sketches. 

Balliol  College, 

Dec,  27th,  1892. 
My  dear  Margaret, 

I  have  been  reading  Lady  Jeune's  two  articles. 
I  am  glad  that  you  did  not  write  them  and  have 
never  written  anything  of  that  sort.  These  criti- 
cisms on  Society  in  which  some  of  us  "live  and  move 
and  have  our  being"  are  mistaken.  In  the  first 
place,  the  whole  fabric  of  society  is  a  great  mystery, 
with  which  we  ought  not  to  take  liberties,  and  which 
should  be  spoken  of  only  in  a  whisper  when  we  com- 
pare our  experiences,  whether  in  a  walk  or  tete-a- 
tete,  or  "over  the  back  hair"  with  a  faithful,  reserved 
confidante.  And  there  is  also  a  great  deal  that  is 
painful  in  the  absence  of  freedom  in  the  division  of 
ranks,  and  the  rising  or  falling  from  one  place  in 
it  to  another.  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  a  thing  not 
to  be  spoken  of;  what  we  can  do  to  improve  it  or 
do  it  good — whether  I,  the  head  of  a  college  at  Ox- 
ford, or  a  young  lady  of  fashion  ( I  know  that  you 
don't  like  to  be  called  that) — ^must  be  done  quite 
silently. 

[115] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Lady  Jeune  believes  that  all  the  world  would  go 
right,  or  at  least  be  a  great  deal  better,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  Nouveaux  Riches.  Some  of  the  Eton 
masters  talk  to  me  in  the  same  way.  I  agree  with 
our  dear  friend,  Lady  Wemyss,  that  the  truth  is 
"the  old  poor  are  so  jealous  of  them."  We  must 
study  the  arts  of  uniting  Society  as  a  whole,  not 
clinging  to  any  one  class  of  it — ^what  is  possible  and 
desirable  to  what  is  impossible  and  undesirable. 

I  hope  you  are  none  the  worse  for  your  great  ef- 
fort. You  know  it  interests  me  to  hear  what  you 
are  about  if  you  have  time  and  inclination  to  write. 
I  saw  your  friend,  Mr.  Asquith,  last  night:  very 
nice  and  not  at  all  puffed  up  with  his  great  ofBce.* 
The  fortunes  of  the  Ministry  seem  very  doubtful. 
There  is  a  tendency  to  follow  Lord  Rosebery  in 
the  Cabinet.  Some  think  that  the  Home  Rule  Bill 
will  be  pushed  to  the  second  reading,  then  dropped, 
and  a  new  shuffle  of  the  cards  will  take  place  under 
Lord  Rosebery :  this  seems  to  me  very  likely.  The 
Ministry  has  very  little  to  spare  and  they  are  not 
gaining  ground,  and  the  English  are  beginning  to 
hate  the  Irish  and  the  Priests. 

I  hope  that  all  things  go  happily  with  you.  Tell 
me  some  of  your  thoughts.  I  have  been  reading 
Mr.  Milner's  book  with  great  satisfaction — ^most 
interesting  and  very  important.  I  fear  that  I  have 
written  you  a  dull  and  meandering  epistle. 

Ever  yours, 

B.  JOWETT. 


'The  Home  Office. 

[116] 


d 


I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Balliol  College, 

Feb,  13, 1893. 
My  dear  Margaret, 

I  began  at  ten  minutes  to  twelve  last  night  to 
write  to  you,  but  as  the  postman  appeared  at  five 
minutes  to  twelve,  it  was  naturally  cut  short.  May 
I  begin  where  I  left  off?  I  sKould  like  to  talk  to 
you  about  many  things.  I  hope  you  will  not  say, 
as  Johnson  says  to  Boswell,  "Sir,  you  have  only 
two  subjects,  yourself  and  me,  and  I  am  heartily 
sick  of  both." 

I  have  been  delighted  with  Mr.  Asquith's  suc- 
cess. He  has  the  certainty  of  a  great  man  in  him — 
such  strength  and  simplicity  and  independence  and 
superiority  to  the  world  and  the  clubs.  You  seem 
to  me  very  fortunate  in  having  three  such  friends 
as  Mr.  Asquith,  Mr.  Milner  and  Mr.  Balfour.  I 
believe  that  you  may  do  a  great  deal  for  them,  and 
they  are  probably  the  first  men  of  their  time,  or  not 
very  far  short  of  it. 

Mr.  Balfour  is  not  so  good  a  leader  of  the  House 
of  Commons  in  opposition  as  he  was  when  he  was 
in  office.  He  is  too  aggressive  and  not  dignified 
enough.  I  fear  that  he  will  lose  weight.  He  had 
better  not  coquette  with  the  foolish  and  unpractical 
thing  "Bimetallism,"  or  write  books  on  "Philoso- 
phic Doubt";  for  there  are  many  things  which  we 
must  certainly  believe,  are  there  not  ?  Quite  enough 
either  for  the  highest  idealism  or  for  ordinary  life. 
He  will  probably,  like  Sir  R.  Peel,  have  to  change 
many  of  his  opinions  in  the  course  of  the  next  thirty 
years  and  he  should  be  on  his  guard  about  this,  or 
he  will  commit  himself  in  such  a  manner  that  he  may 

[117] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

have  to  withdraw  from  politics  (about  the  currency, 
about  the  Church,  about  Socialism). 

Is  this  to  be  the  last  day  of  Gladstone's  life  in 
the  House  of  Commons?  It  is  very  pathetic  to 
think  of  the  aged  man  making  his  last  great  display 
almost  in  opposition  to  the  convictions  of  his  whole 
life.  I  hope  that  he  will  acquit  himself  well  and 
nobly,  and  then  it  does  not  much  matter  whether 
or  no  he  dies  like  Lord  Chatham  a  few  days  after- 
wards. It  seems  to  me  that  his  Ministry  have  not 
done  badly  during  the  last  fortnight.  They  have, 
to  a  great  extent,  removed  the  impression  they  had 
created  in  England  that  they  were  the  friends  of 
disorder.  Do  you  know,  I  cannot  help  feeling  I 
have  more  of  the  Liberal  element  in  me  than  of  the 
Conservative?  This  rivalry  between  the  parties, 
each  surprising  the  other  by  their  liberality,  has 
done  a  great  deal  of  good  to  the  people  of  England. 

Headington  Hill, 

near  Oxford^ 
July  30th,  1893. 
My  dear  Margaret, 

Did  you  ever  read  these  lines? — 

'Tis  said  that  marriages  are  made  above — 
It  may  be  so,  some  few,  perhaps,  for  love. 
But  from  the  smell  of  sulphur  I  should  say 
They  must  be  making  matches  here  all  day. 

(Orpheus  returning  from  the  lower  world  in  a 
farce  called  The  Olympic  Devils,  which  used  to  be 
played  when  I  was  young. ) 

[118] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Miss  Nightingale  talks  to  me  of  "the  feelings 
usually  called  love,"  but  then  she  is  a  heroine,  per- 
haps a  goddess. 

This  love-making  is  a  very  serious  business, 
though  society  makes  fun  of  it,  perhaps  to  test  the 
truth  and  earnestness  of  the  lovers. 

Dear,  I  am  an  old  man,  what  the  poet  calls  "on 
the  threshold  of  old  age"  (Homer),  and  I  am  not 
very  romantic  or  sentimental  about  such  things, 
but  I  would  do  anything  I  could  to  save  any  one 
who  cares  for  me  from  making  a  mistake. 

I  think  that  you  are  quite  right  in  not  running 
the  risk  without  a  modest  abode  in  the  country. 

The  real  doubt  about  the  affair  is  the  family; 
will  you  consider  this  and  talk  it  over  with  your 
mother?  The  other  day  you  were  at  a  masqued 
ball,  as  you  told  me — a  few  months  hence  you  will 
have,  or  rather  may  be  having,  the  care  of  five 
children,  with  all  the  ailments  and  miseries  and  dis- 
agreeables of  children  (unlike  the  children  of  some 
of  your  friends)  and  not  your  own,  although  you 
will  have  to  be  a  mother  to  them,  and  this  state  of 
things  will  last  during  the  greatest  part  of  your 
life.  Is  not  the  contrast  more  than  human  nature 
can  endure  ?  I  know  that  it  is,  as  you  said,  a  nobler 
manner  of  living,  but  are  you  equal  to  such  a  strug- 
gle. If  you  are,  I  can  only  say,  "God  bless  you, 
you  are  a  brave  girl."  But  I  would  not  have  you 
disguise  from  yourself  the  nature  of  the  trial.  It 
is  not  possible  to  be  a  leader  of  fashion  and  to  do 
your  duty  to  the  five  children. 

On  the  other  hand,  you  have  at  your  feet  a  man 
of  outstanding  ability  and  high  character,  and  who 

[119] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

has  attained  an  extraordinary  position — far  better 
than  any  aristocratic  lath  or  hop -pole ;  and  you  can 
render  him  the  most  material  help  by  your  abilities 
and  knowledge  of  the  world.  Society  will  be  graci- 
ous to  you  because  you  are  a  grata  persona,  and 
everybody  will  wish  you  well  because  you  have 
made  the  sacrifice.  You  may  lead  a  much  higher 
life  if  you  are  yourself  equal  to  it. 

To-day  I  read  Hume's  life — by  himself — very 
striking.  You  will  find  it  generally  at  the  begin- 
ning of  his  History  of  England.  There  have  been 
saints  among  infidels  too,  e.g.,  Hume  and  Spinoza, 
on  behalf  of  whom  I  think  it  a  duty  to  say  some- 
thing as  the  Church  has  devoted  them  to  eternal 
flames.  To  use  a  German  phrase,  "They  were 
*  Christians  in  unconsciousness.'  "  That  describes  a 
good  many  people.  I  believe  that  as  Christians  we 
should  get  rid  of  a  good  many  doubtful  phrases  and 
speak  only  through  our  lives. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Margaret, 

Yours  truly  and  affectionately, 

B.  JOWETT. 

Balliol, 

Sunday.    1893. 
My  dear  Margaret, 

I  quite  agree  with  you  that  what  we  want  most 
in  life  is  rest  and  peace.  To  act  up  to  our  best 
lights,  that  is  quite  enough ;  there  need  be  no  trouble 
about  dogmas,  which  are  hardly  intelligible  to  us, 
nor  ought  there  to  be  any  trouble  about  historical 
facts,  including  miracles,  of  which  the  view  of  the 
world  has  naturally  altered  in  the  course  of  ages. 

[120] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  include  in  this  such  Questions  as  whether  Our 
Lord  rose  from  the  dead  in  any  natural  sense  of  the 
words.  It  is  quite  a  different  question,  whether  we 
shall  imitate  Him  in  His  life. 

I  am  glad  you  think  about  these  questions,  and 
shall  be  pleased  to  talk  to  you  about  them.  What 
I  have  to  say  about  religion  is  contained  in  two 
words:  Truth  and  Goodness,  but  I  would  not  have 
one  without  the  other,  and  if  I  had  to  choose  be- 
tween them,  might  be  disposed  to  give  Truth  the 
first  place.  I  think,  also,  that  you  might  put  re- 
ligion in  another  way,  as  absolute  resignation  to  the 
Will  of  God  and  the  order  of  nature.  There  might 
be  other  definitions,  equally  true,  but  none  suited 
better  than  another  to  the  characters  of  men,  such 
as  the  imitation  of  Christ,  or  the  truth  in  all  re- 
ligions, which  would  be  an  adequate  description  of 
it.  The  Christian  religion  seems  to  me  to  extend  to 
all  the  parts  and  modes  of  life,  and  then  to  come 
back  to  our  hearts  and  conscience.  I  think  that  the 
best  way  of  considering  it,  and  the  most  interesting, 
is  to  view  it  as  it  may  be  seen  in  the  lives  of  good 
men  everywhere,  whether  Christians  or  so-called 
heathens — Socrates,  Plato,  Marcus  Aurelius,  St. 
Augustine,  as  well  as  in  the  lives  of  Christ,  or  Bun- 
yan,  or  Spinoza.  The  study  of  religious  biography 
seems  to  me  one  of  the  best  modes  of  keeping  up 
Christian  feeling. 

As  to  the  question  of  Disestablishment,  I  am  not 
like  Mr.  Balfour,  I  wobble  rather,  yet,  on  the  whole, 
I  agree  with  Mr.  Gladstone,  certainly  about  the 
Welsh  Church.  Churches  are  so  worldly  and  so 
much  allied  to  the  interests  of  the  higher  classes.    I 

[121] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

think  that  a  person  who  belongs  to  a  Church  should 
always  endeavour  to  live  above  his  Church,  above 
the  sermon  and  a  good  part  of  the  prayer,  above  the 
Athanasian  Creed,  and  the  form  of  Ordination, 
above  the  passions  of  party  feelings  and  public 
meetings.  The  best  individuals  have  always  been 
better  than  Churches,  though  I  do  not  go  so  far  as 
a  German  professor,  who  thinks  that  people  will 
never  be  religious  until  they  leave  off  going  to 
church,  yet  I  am  of  opinion  that  in  every  congrega- 
tion the  hearers  should  attempt  to  raise  themselves 
above  the  tone  of  the  preacher  and  of  the  service. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  Mr.  Balfour,  who  has 
so  much  that  is  liberal  in  him,  is  of  an  extreme 
opposite  opinion.  But  I  feel  that  I  have  talked 
long  enough  on  a  subject  which  may  not  interest 
you,  but  of  which  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  again 
when  we  meet.  It  seems  to  me  probable  that  the 
Church  will  be  disestablished,  because  it  has  been 
so  already  in  most  countries  of  Europe,  and  because 
the  school  is  everywhere  taking  its  place. 

I  shall  look  forward  to  your  coming  to  see  me, 
if  I  am  seriously  ill — "Be  with  me  when  my  light  is 
low.''  But  I  don't  think  that  this  illness  which  I 
at  present  have  is  serious  enough  to  make  any  of 
my  friends  anxious,  and  it  would  be  rather  awkward 
for  my  friends  to  come  and  take  leave  of  me  if  I 
recovered,  which  I  mean  to  do,  for  what  I  think  a 
good  reason — because  I  still  have  a  good  deal  to  do. 

B.  JOWETT. 

My  beloved  friend  died  in  1893. 
The  year  before  his  death  he  had  the  dangerous 
[122] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  illness  to  which  he  alludes  in  the  above  letter. 
Every  one  thought  he  would  die.  He  dictated  f are- 
1  well  letters  to  all  his  friends  by  his  secretary  and 
i  housekeeper,  Miss  Knight.  On  receiveing  mine 
I  from  him  at  Glen,  I  was  so  much  annoyed  at  its 
I  tone  that  I  wired : 

Jowett  Balliol  College  Oxford. 

I  refuse  to  accept  this  as  your  farewell  letter  to 
me  you  have  been  listening  to  some  silly  woman 
and  believing  what  she  says.    Love. 

Margot. 

This  telegram  had  a  magical  effect :  he  got  stead- 
ily better  and  wrote  me  a  wonderful  letter.  I  re- 
member the  reason  that  I  was  vexed  was  because 
he  beheved  a  report  that  I  had  knocked  up  against 
a  foreign  potentate  in  Rotten  Row  for  a  bet,  which 
was  not  only  untrue  but  ridiculous,  and  I  was  get- 
ting a  little  impatient  of  the  cattishness  and  cred- 
ulity of  the  West-end  of  London. 

My  week-ends  at  Balliol  were  different  to  my 
other  visits.  The  Master  took  infinite  trouble  over 
them.  Once  on  my  arrival  he  asked  me  which  of 
one  or  two  men  I  would  like  to  sit  next  to  at  dinner. 
I  said  I  should  prefer  Mr.  Huxley  or  Lord  Bowen^ 
to  which  he  replied : 

[123] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

"I  would  like  you  to  have  on  your  other  side, 
either  to-night  or  to-morrow,  my  friend  Lord  S  el- 
borne*  : 

Margot  {ivith  surprise) :  "Since  when  is  he  your 
friend?  I  was  under  the  impression  you  disliked 
him." 

Jowett:  "Your  impression  was  right,  but  evem 
the  youngest  of  us  are  sometimes  wrong,  as  DrJ 
Thompson  said,  and  I  look  upon  Lord  Selbome 
now  as  a  friend.  I  hope  I  said  nothing  against; 
him." 

Margot:  "Oh  dear  no!  You  only  said  he  was 
fond  of  hymns  and  had  no  sense  of  humour." 

JowETT  (snappishly) :  "If  that  is  so,  Margaret,' 
I  made  an  extremely  foolish  remark.  I  will  put^ 
you  between  Lord  Bowen  and  Sir  Alfred  Lyall. 
Was  it  not  strange  that  you  should  have  said  of 
Lyall  to  Huxley  that  he  reminded  you  of  a  faded^ 
Crusader  and  that  you  suspected  him  of  wearing  a 
coat  of  mail  under  his  broadcloth,  to  which  you  wiU 
remember  Huxley  remarked,  'You  mean  a  coating 
of  female,  without  which  no  man  is  saved!'  YouK 
sister,  Lady  Ribblesdale,  said  the  very  same  thing 
to  me  about  him." 

♦The  late  Earl  of  Selborne. 

[124] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

This  interested  me,  as  Charty  and  I  had  not 
spoken  to  each  other  of  Sir  Alfred  Lyall,  who  was 
a  new  acquaintance  of  ours. 

Margot:  "I  am  sure,  Master,  you  did  not  give 
her  the  same  answer  as  Mr.  Huxley  gave  me ;  you 
don't  think  well  of  my  sex,  do  you?" 

Jowett:  "You  are  not  the  person  to  reproach 
me,  Margaret :  only  the  other  week  I  reproved  you 
for  saying  women  were  often  dull,  sometimes  dan- 
gerous and  always  dishonourable.  I  might  have 
added  they  were  rarely  reasonable  and  always  cour- 
ageous.   Would  you  agree  to  this?" 

Margot:  "Yes." 

I  sat  between  Sir  Alfred  Lyall  and  Lord  Bowen 
that  night  at  dinner.  There  was  more  bouquet  than 
body  about  Sir  Alfred  and,  to  parody  Gibbon,  Lord 
Bowen's  mind  was  not  clouded  by  enthusiasm;  but 
two  more  delightful  men  never  existed.  After  din- 
ner, Huxley  came  across  the  room  to  me  and  said 
that  the  Master  had  confessed  he  had  done  him  out 
of  sitting  next  to  me,  so  would  I  talk  to  him?  We 
sat  down  together  and  our  conversation  opened  on 
religion. 

There  was  not  much  juste  milieu  about  Huxley. 
He  began  by  saying  God  was  only  there  because 

[125] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

people  believed  in  Him,  and  that  the  fastidious  in- 
cognito, "I  am  that  I  am,"  was  His  idea  of  humour, 
etc.,  etc.  He  ended  by  saying  he  did  not  believe  any 
man  of  action  had  ever  been  inspired  by  religion. 
I  thought  I  would  call  in  Lord  Bowen,  who  was 
standing  aimlessly  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  to  my 
assistance.  He  instantly  responded  and  drew  a 
chair  up  to  us.    I  said  to  him : 

"Mr.  Huxley  challenges  me  to  produce  any  man 
of  action  who  has  been  directly  inspired  by  re- 
ligion." 

BowEN  (with  a  sleek  smile) :  '^'Between  us  we 
should  be  able  to  answer  him.  Miss  Tennant,  I 
think.    Who  is  your  man?" 

Every  idea  seemed  to  scatter  out  of  my  brain.  I 
suggested  at  random: 

"Gordon." 

I  might  have  been  reading  his  thoughts,  for  it  so 
happened  that  Huxley  adored  General  Gordon. 

Huxley:  "Ah!    There  you  rather  have  me!" 

He  had  obviously  had  enough  of  me,  for,  chang- 
ing the  position  of  his  chair,  as  if  to  engage  Bowen 
in  a  tete-a-tete,  he  said : 

"My  dear  Bowen,  Gordon  was  the  most  remark- 
able man  I  ever  met.  I  know  him  well;  he  was 
[126] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

sincere  and  disinterested,  quite  incapable  of  saying 
anything  he  did  not  think.  You  will  hardly  believe 
me,  but  one  day  he  said  in  tones  of  passionate 
conviction  that,  if  he  were  to  walk  round  the  corner 
of  the  street  and  have  his  brains  shot  out,  he  would 
only  be  transferred  to  a  wider  sphere  of  govern- 
ment." 

Bowen:  "Would  the  absence  of  brains  have  been 
of  any  help  to  him?" 

After  this,  our  mutual  good  humoui  was  restored 
and  I  only  had  time  for  a  word  with  Mrs.  Green 
before  the  evening  was  ruined  by  Jowett  taking  us 
across  the  quad  to  hear  moderate  music  in  the  hid- 
eous Balliol  hall.  Of  all  the  Master's  women 
friends,  I  infinitely  preferred  Mrs.  T.  H.  Green, 
John  Addington  Symonds'  sister.  She  is  among 
ir;he  rare  women  who  have  all  the  qualities  which  in 
noments  of  disillusion  I  deny  to  them. 

I  spent  my  last  week-end  at  Balliol  when 
fowett's  health  appeared  to  have  completely  re- 
covered. On  the  Monday  morning,  after  his  guests 
lad  gone,  I  went  as  usual  into  his  study  to  talk  to 
lim.  My  wire  on  receiving  his  death-bed  letter  had 
.mused  but  distressed  him;  and  on  my  arrival  he 
)ressed  me  to  tell  him  what  it  was  he  had  written 

P27] 


I 


£tX 

1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

that  had  offended  me.  I  told  him  I  was  not  of 
fended,  only  hurt.  He  asked  me  what  the  differ 
ence  was.  I  wish  I  could  have  given  him  the  answe: 
that  my  daughter  Elizabeth  gave  Lord  Grey*  whei 
he  asked  her  the  same  question,  walking  in  the  gar 
den  at  Fallodon  on  the  occasion  of  her  first  count 
house  visit: 

"The  one  touches  your  vanity  and  the  other  yo 
heart." 

I  do  not  know  what  I  said,  but  I  told  him  I  wa 
quite  unoff ended  and  without  touchiness,  but  tha 
his  letter  had  all  the  faults  of  a  schoolmaster  and  t 
cleric  in  it  and  not  the  love  of  a  friend.  He  listener 
to  me  with  his  usual  patience  and  sweetness  and  ex 
pressed  his  regret. 

On  the  Monday  morning  of  which  I  am  writing 
and  on  which  we  had  our  last  conversation,  I  h 
made  up  my  mind  that,  as  I  had  spoilt  many  god 
conversations  by  talking  too  much  myself,  I  woul 
hold  my  tongue  and  let  the  Master  for  once  mak 
the  first  move.  I  had  not  had  much  experience  < 
his  classical  and  devastating  silences  and  had  ofte 
defended  him  from  the  charge ;  but  it  was  time  t 
see  what  happened  if  I  talked  less. 

•viscount  Grey  of  Fallodon. 

[128] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

When  we  got  into  the  room  and  he  had  shut  the 
door,  I  absently  selected  the  only  comfortable  chair 
and  we  sat  down  next  to  each  other.  A  long  and 
quelling  silence  followed  the  lighting  of  my  ciga- 
rette. Feeling  rather  at  a  loose  end,  I  thought  out 
a  few  stage  directions — "here  business  with  hand- 
kerchief, etc." — and  adjusted  the  buckles  on  my 
shoes.  I  looked  at  some  photographs  and  fingered 
a  paper-knife  and  odds  and  ends  on  the  table  near 
me.  The  oppressive  silence  continued.  I  strolled 
to  the  book-shelves  and,  under  cover  of  a  copy  of 
Country  Conversations,  peeped  at  the  Master.  He 
appeared  to  be  quite  unaware  of  my  existence. 

"Nothing  doing,"  said  I  to  myself,  putting  back 
the  book. 

Something  had  switched  him  off  as  if  he  had  been 
the  electric  light. 

At  last,  breaking  the  silence  with  considerable 
impatience,  I  said: 

"Really,  Master,  there  is  very  little  excuse  for 

your  silence!    Surely  you  have  something  to  say  to 

I  me,  something  to  tell  me;  you  have  had  an  experi- 

j  ence  since  we  talked  to  each  other  that  I  have  never 

had:  you  have  been  near  Death." 

[129] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

JowETT  {not  in  any  way  put  out) :  "I  felt  no 
rapture,  no  bliss."  (Suddenly  looking  at  me  ana 
taking  my  hand,)  "My  dear  child,  you  must  be- 
lieve in  God  in  spite  of  what  the  clergy  say." 


[1301  j 


I 


CHAPTER  III 

FAST  AND  FURIOUS  HUNTING  IN  LEICESTERSHIRE — 

COUNTRY  HOUSE  PARTY  AND  A  NEW  ADMIRER 

FRIENDSHIP  WITH  LORD  AND  LADY  MANNERS 

MY  friendship  with  Lord  and  Lady  Manners,* 
of  Avon  Tyrrell,  probably  made  more  differ- 
ence to  the  course  of  my  life  than  anything  that 
had  happened  in  it. 

Riding  was  what  I  knew  and  cared  most  about; 
and  I  dreamt  of  High  Leicestershire.  I  had  hunted 
in  Cheshire,  where  you  killed  three  foxes  a  day  and 
found  yourself  either  clattering  among  cottages  and 
clothes-lines,  or  blocked  by  carriages  and  crowds; 
I  knew  the  stiff  plough  and  fine  horses  of  Yorkshire 
and  the  rotten  grass  in  the  Bicester;  I  had  struggled 
over  the  large  fences  and  small  enclosures  of  the 
Grafton  and  been  a  heroine  in  the  select  fields  and 
large  becks  with  the  Burton;  and  the  Beaufort  had 
seen  the  dawn  of  my  fox-hunting;  but  Melton  was 
a  name  which  brought  the  Hon.  Crasher  before  me 

*Avon  Tyrrell,  Christchurch,  Hants.  Lady  Manners  was  a  Miss 
Fane. 

[131] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

and  opened  a  vista  on  my  future  of  all  that  was  fast, 
furious  and  fashionable. 

When  I  was  told  that  I  was  going  to  sit  next  to 
the  Master  of  the  Quorn  at  dinner,  my  excitement 
knew  no  bounds. 

Gordon  Cunard — whose  brother  Bache  owned 
the  famous  hounds  in  Market  Harborough — had 
insisted  on  my  joining  him  at  a  country-house  party 
given  for  a  ball.  On  getting  the  invitation  I  had 
refused,  as  I  hardly  knew  our  hostess — the  pretty 
Mrs.  Farnham — but  after  receiving  a  spirited  tele- 
gram from  my  new  admirer — one  of  the  best  men 
to  hounds  in  Leicestershire — I  changed  my  mind. 
In  consequence  of  this  decision  a  double  event  took 
place.  I  fell  in  love  with  Peter  Flower — a  brother 
of  the  late  Lord  Battersea — and  formed  an  attach- 
ment with  a  couple  whose  devotion  and  goodness  to 
me  for  more  than  twenty  years  encouraged  and  em- 
bellished my  glorious  youth. 

Lord  Manners,  or  "Hoppy,"  as  we  called  him, 
was  one  of  the  few  men  I  ever  met  whom  the  word 
"single-minded"  described.  His  sense  of  honour 
was  only  equalled  by  his  sense  of  humour;  and  a 
more  original,  tender,  truthful,  uncynical,  real  being 
never  existed.  He  was  a  fine  sportsman  and  had 
[182] 


J, 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

won  the  Grand  Military  when  he  was  in  the  Gren- 
adiers, riding  one  of  his  own  hunters;  he  was  also 
the  second  gentleman  in  England  to  win  the  Grand 
National  in  1882,  on  a  thoroughbred  called  Seaman, 
who  was  by  no  means  every  one's  horse.  For  other 
people  he  cared  nothing.  ''Deddement  je  nfaime 
pas  les  autres"  he  would  have  said,  to  quote  my 
son-in-law,  Antoine  Bibesco. 

His  wife  often  said  that,  but  for  her,  he  would 

I  not  have  asked  a  creature  inside  the  house;  be  this 

as  it  may,  no  host  and  hostess  could  have  been  more 

socially  susceptible  or  given  their  guests  a  warmer 

welcome  than  Con  and  Hoppy  Manners. 

What  I  loved  and  admired  in  him  was  his  keen- 
ness and  his  impeccable  unworldliness.  He  was 
perfectly  independent  of  public  opinion  and  as  free 
'  from  rancour  as  he  was  from  fear,  malice  or 
acerbity.  He  never  said  a  stupid  thing.  Some 
people  would  say  that  this  is  not  a  compliment,  but 
the  amount  of  silly  things  that  I  have  heard  clever 
people  say  makes  me  often  wonder  what  is  left  for 
the  stupid. 

His  wife  was  very  different,  though  quite  as  free 
from  rhetoric. 

Under  a  becalmed  exterior  Con  Manners  was  a 

[133] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

little  brittle  and  found  it  difficult  to  say  she  was 
in  the  wrong;  this  impenitence  caused  some  of  her 
lovers  a  suffering  of  which  she  was  unconscious ;  it 
is  a  minor  failing  which  strikes  a  dumb  note  in  me, 
but  which  I  have  since  discovered  is  not  only  com- 
mon, but  almost  universal.  I  often  warned  people 
of  Con's  dangerous  smile  when  I  observed  them 
blundering  along;  but  though  she  was  uneven  in 
her  powers  of  forgiveness,  the  serious  quarrel  of 
her  life  was  made  up  ultimately  without  reserve. 
Lady  Manners  was  clever,  gracious,  and  under- 
standing; she  was  more  worldly,  more  adventurous 
and  less  deprecating  than  her  husband;  people 
meant  a  great  deal  to  her ;  and  the  whole  of  London 
was  at  her  feet,  except  those  lonely  men  and  women 
who  specialise  in  collecting  the  famous  as  men  coi* 
lect  centipedes. 

To  digress  here,  I  asked  my  friend  Mr.  Birrell 
once  how  the  jv^te  milieu  was  to  be  found — for  an 
enterprising  person — between  running  after  the 
great  men  of  the  day  and  missing  them;  and] 
he  said: 

"I  would  advise  you  to  live  among  your  superiors,' 
Margot,  but  to  be  of  them." 

Con  was  one  of  the  few  women  of  whom  it  could 
[134] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

be  said  that  she  was  in  an  equal  degree  a  wonderful 
wife,  mother,  sister  and  friend.  Her  charm  of 
manner  and  the  tenderness  of  her  regard  gave  her 
face  beauty  that  was  independent — ahnost  a  rival 
of  fine  features — and  she  was  a  saint  of  goodness. 

Her  love  of  flowers  made  every  part  of  her  home, 
inside  and  out,  radiant;  and  her  sense  of  humour 
and  love  of  being  entertained  stimulated  the  witty 
and  the  lazy. 

For  nineteen  years  I  watched  her  go  about  her 
daily  duties  with  a  quiet  grace  and  serenity  in- 
finitely restful  to  live  with,  and  when  I  was 
separated  from  her  it  nearly  broke  my  heart.  In 
connection  with  the  love  Con  and  I  had  for  each 
other  I  will  only  add  an  old  French  quotation: 

*'Par  grace  infinie  Dieu  les  mist  au  monde  en- 
semble" 

My  dear  friend.  Mrs.  Hamlyn,  was  the  chate- 
laine of  the  famous  Clovelly,  in  Devonshire,  and 
was  Con's  sister.  She  had  the  spirit  of  eternal  youth 
and  was  full  of  breathless  admiration.  I  hardly 
ever  met  any  one  who  derived  so  much  pleasure  and 
surprise  out  of  ordinary  Hfe.  She  was  as  uncritical 
and  tolerant  of  those  she  loved  as  she  was  narrow 
and  vehement  over  those  who  had  unaccountably 

[135] 


I 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

offended  her.  She  had  an  ebullient  and  voracious 
sense  of  humour  and  was  baffled  and  eblovie  by 
titled  people,  however  vulgar  and  ridiculous  they 
might  be.  By  this  I  do  not  mean  she  was  a  snob— 
on  the  contrary  she  made  and  kept  friends  among 
the  frumps  and  the  obscure,  to  whom  she  showed 
faithful  hospitality;  but  she  was  old-fashioned  and 
thought  that  all  duchesses  were  ladies. 

Christine  Hamlyn  was  a  character-part;  but,  if 
the  machinery  was  not  invented  by  which  you  could 
remove  her  prejudices,  no  tank  could  turn  her  from 
her  friends.  It  was  through  the  Souls  and  these 
friends  whom  I  have  endeavoured  to  describe  that 
I  entered  into  a  new  phase  of  my  life. 


[136] 


CHAPTER  IV 


.>' 


MARGOT   FALLS   IN    LOVE   AGAIN —  HAVOC      IN   THE 

HUNTING  FIELD ;  A  FALL  AND  A  DUCKING ^THE 

FAMOUS    MRS.    BO;    UNHEEDED   ADVICE    FROM   A 

RIVAL — ^A  lovers'   QUARREL PETER  JUMPS  IN 

THE  WINDOW — THE  AMERICAN  TROTTER — ^AN- 
OTHER LOVER  INTERVENES — PETER  RETURNS 
FROM  INDIA;  ILLUMINATION  FROM  A  DARK 
WOMAN 

THE  first  time  I  evei  saw  Peter  Flower  was  at 
Ranelagh,  where  he  had  taken  my  sister 
Charty  Ribblesdale  to  watch  a  polo-match.  They 
were  sitting  together  at  an  iron  table,  under  a  cedar 

»ee,  eating  ices.  I  was  wearing  a  grey  muslin  dress 
ith  a  black  sash  and  a  black  hat,  with  coral  beads 
round  my  throat,  and  heard  him  say  as  I  came  up 
to  them: 

"Nineteen?    Not  possible!     I  should  have  said 
fifteen!    Is  that  the  one  that  rides  so  well?" 
,        After  shaking  hands  I  sat  down  and  looked  about 
I    me. 

I   always  notice  what  men  wear;   and  Peter 
Flower  was  the  best-dressed  man  I  had  ever  seen. 

[137] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  do  not  know  who  could  have  worn  his  clothes 
when  they  were  new;  but  certainly  he  never  did. 
After  his  clothes,  what  I  was  most  struck  by  was 
his  peculiar,  almost  animal  grace,  powerful  sloping 
shoulders,  fascinating  laugh  and  infectious  vitality. 

Laurence  Oliphant  once  said  to  me,  "I  divide  the 
world  into  life-givers  and  life-takers";  and  I  have 
often  had  reason  to  feel  the  truth  of  this,  being  as 
I  am  acutely  sensitive  to  high  spirits.  On  looking 
back  along  the  gallery  of  my  acquaintance,  I  can 
find  not  more  than  three  or  four  people  as  tenacious 
of  life  as  Peter  was:  Lady  Desborough,  Lady 
Cunard,  my  son  Anthony  and  myself.  There  are 
various  kinds  of  high  spirits:  some  so  crude  and 
rough-tongued  that  they  vitiate  what  they  touch 
and  estrange  every  one  of  sensibility  and  some  so 
insistent  that  they  tire  and  suffocate  you;  but 
Peter's  vitality  revived  and  restored  every  one  he 
came  in  contact  with ;  and,  when  I  said  good-bye  to 
him  that  day  at  Ranelagh,  although  I  cannot  re- 
member a  single  sentence  of  any  interest  spoken 
by  him  or  by  me,  my  mind  was  absorbed  in  thinking 
of  when  and  how  I  could  meet  him  again. 

In  the  winter  of  that  same  year  I  went  with  the 
Ribblesdales  to  stay  with  Peter's  brother.  Lord 
[138] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Battersea,  to  have  a  hunt.  I  took  with  me  the  best 
of  hats  and  habits  and  two  leggy  and  faded  hire- 
lings, hoping  to  pick  up  a  mount.  Charty  having 
twisted  her  knee  the  day  after  we  arrived,  this  en- 
abled me  to  ride  the  horse  on  which  Peter  was  to 
have  mounted  her;  and  full  of  spirits  we  all  went 
off  to  the  meet  of  the  Bicester  hounds.  I  had  hardly 
spoken  three  words  to  my  benefactor,  but  Kibbles- 
dale  had  rather  unwisely  told  him  that  I  was  the 
best  rider  to  hounds  in  England. 

At  the  meet  I  examined  my  mount  closely  while 
the  man  was  lengthening  my  stirrup.  Havoc,  as 
he  was  called,  was  a  dark  chestnut,  16.1,  with  a  coat 
like  the  back  of  a  violin  and  a  spiteful  little  head. 
He  had  an  enormous  bit  on;  and  I  was  glad  to  see 
a  leather  strap  under  the  curb-chain. 

When  I  was  mounted,  Peter  kept  close  to  my  side 
and  said: 

"You're  on  a  topper!  Take  him  where  you  like, 
but  ride  your  own  line." 

To  which  I  replied: 

"Why?  Does  he  rush?  I  had  thought  of  fol- 
lowing you." 

Peter:  "Not  at  all,  but  he  may  pull  you  a  bit,  so 
keep  away  from  the  field;  the  fence  isn't  made  that 

[139] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

he  can't  jump;  and  as  for  water,  he's  a  swallow! 
I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  mine!  WeVe  got  a 
brook  round  about  here  with  rotten  banks,  it  will 
catch  the  best!  But,  if  we  are  near  each  other,  you 
must  come  alongside  and  go  first  and  mine  will 
very  likely  follow  you.  I  don't  want  to  spend  the 
night  in  that  beastly  brook." 

It  was  a  good  scenting  day  and  we  did  not  take 
long  to  find.  I  stuck  to  Peter  Flower  while  the 
Bicester  hounds  raced  across  the  heavy  grass  to- 
wards a  hairy-looking  ugly  double.  In  spite  of  the 
ironmonger's  shop  in  Havoc's  mouth,  I  had  not  the 
faintest  control  over  him,  so  I  said  to  Peter: 

"You  know,  Mr.  Flower,  I  can't  stop  your 
horse!" 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  charming  smile  and  said : 

"But  why  should  you?  Hounds  are  running!" 

Margot:  "But  I  can't  turn  him!" 

Peter:  "It  doesn't  matter!  They  are  running 
straight.    Hullo!  Lookout!  Look  out  for  Hydy!" 

We  were  going  great  guns.  I  saw  a  man  in  front 
of  me  slowing  up  to  the  double,  so  shouted  at  him: 

"Get  out  of  my  way!  Get  out  of  my  way  I" 

I  was  certain  that  at  the  pace  he  was  going  he 
would  take  a  heavy  fall  and  I  should  be  on  the  top 
[140] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

of  him.  While  in  the  act  of  turning  round  to  see 
who  it  was  that  was  shouting,  his  wilhng  horse 
paused  and  I  shot  past  him,  taking  away  his  spur 
in  my  habit  skirt.  I  heard  a  volley  of  oaths  as  I 
jumped  into  the  jungle.  Havoc,  however,  did  not 
Hke  the  brambles  and,  steadying  himself  as  he 
landed,  arched  with  the  activity  of  a  cat  over  a 
high  rail  on  the  other  side  of  the  double;  I  turned 
round  and  saw  Peter's  horse  close  behind  me  hit 
the  rail  and  peck  heavily  upon  landing,  at  which 
Peter  gave  him  one  down  the  shoulder  and  looked 
furious, 

I  had  no  illusions !  I  was  on  a  horse  that  nothing 
could  stop!  Seeing  a  line  of  willows  in  front  of 
me,  I  shouted  to  Peter  to  come  along,  as  I  thought 
if  the  brook  was  ahead  of  us  I  could  not  possibly 
keep  close  to  him,  going  at  that  pace.  To  my  sur- 
prise and  delight,  as  we  approached  the  willows 
Peter  passed  me  and  the  water  widened  out  in  front 
of  us;  I  saw  by  his  set  face  that  it  was  neck  or 
nothing  with  him.  Havoc  was  going  well  within 
himself,  but  his  stable-companion  was  precipitate 
and  flurried;  and  before  I  knew  what  had  happened 
Peter  was  in  the  middle  of  the  brook  and  I  was 
jumping  over  his  head.    On  landing  I  made  a  large 

[141] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

circle  round  the  field  away  from  hounds,  trying  to 
pull  up ;  and  when  I  could  turn  round  I  found  my- 
self facing  the  brook  again,  with  Peter  dripping 
on  the  bank  nearest  to  me.  Havoc  pricked  his  ears, 
passed  him  like  a  flash  and  jumped  the  brook  again; 
but  the  bank  on  landing  was  boggy  and  while  we 
were  floundering  I  got  a  pull  at  him  by  putting  the 
curb-rein  under  my  pommel  and,  exhausted  and 
distressed,  I  jumped  ofi*.    Peter  burst  out  laughing. 

"We  seem  to  be  separated  for  life,"  he  said.  "Do 
look  at  my  damned  horse!" 

I  looked  down  the  water  and  saw  the  animal 
standing  knee-deep,  nibbling  grass  and  mud  off  the 
bank  with  perfect  composure. 

Margot:  "I  really  believe  Havoc  would  jump 
this  brook  for  a  third  time  and  then  I  should  be  by 
your  side.  What  luck  that  you  aren't  soaked  to  the 
skin ;  hadn't  I  better  look  out  for  the  second  horse- 
men? Hounds  by  now  will  be  at  the  sea  and  I  con- 
fess I  can't  ride  your  horse :  does  he  always  pull  like 
this?" 

Peter:  "Yes,  he  catches  hold  a  bit,  but  what  do 
you  mean?  You  rode  him  beautifully.  Hullo! 
What  is  that  spur  doing  in  your  skirt?" 

Margot:  "I  took  it  off  the  man  that  you  call 
[142] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

'Hydy/  who  was  going  so  sticky  at  the  double 
when  we  started." 

Peter:  "Poor  old  Clarendon!  I  advise  you  to 
keep  his  spur,  he'll  never  guess  who  took  it ;  and,  if 
I  know  anything  about  him,  there  will  be  no  love 
lost  between  you  even  if  you  do  return  it  to  him!" 

I  was  longing  for  another  horse,  as  I  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  going  home.  At  that  moment  a 
single  file  of  second  horse-men  came  in  sight;  and 
Peter's  well-trained  servant,  on  a  thoroughbred 
grey,  rode  up  to  us  at  the  conventional  trot.  Peter 
lit  a  cigar  and,  pointing  to  the  brook,  said  to  his 
man: 

"Go  off  and  get  a  rope  and  hang  that  brute!  Or 
haul  him  out,  will  you?    And  give  me  my  lunch." 

We  were  miles  away  from  any  human  habitation 
and  I  felt  depressed. 

"Perhaps  I  had  better  ride  home  with  your  man," 
said  I,  looking  tentatively  at  Peter. 

"Home!    What  for?"  said  he. 

Margot:  "Are  you  sure  Havoc  is  not  tired?" 

Peter:  "I  wish  to  God  he  was!  But  I  daresay 
this  infernal  Bicester  grass,  which  is  heavier  than 
anything  I  saw  in  Yorkshire,  has  steadied  him  a 
bit ;  you'll  see  he'll  go  far  better  with  you  this  after- 

[143] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

noon.  I'm  awfully  sorry  and  would  put  you  on  my 
second  horse,  but  it  isn't  mine  and  I'm  told  it's  got 
a  bit  of  a  temper;  if  you  go  through  that  gate  we'll 
have  our  lunch  together.  .  .  .  Have  a  ciga- 
rette?" 

I  smiled  and  shook  my  head;  my  mouth  was  as 
dry  as  a  Japanese  toy  and  I  felt  shattered  with 
fatigue.  The  ground  on  which  I  was  standing  was 
deep  and  I  was  afraid  of  walking  in  case  I  should 
leave  my  boots  in  it,  so  I  tapped  the  back  of  Havoc's 
fetlocks  till  I  got  him  stretched  and  with  great  skill 
mounted  myself.  This  filled  Peter  with  admira- 
tion; and,  lifting  his  hat,  he  said: 

"Well!  You  are  the  very  first  woman  I  ever 
saw  mount  herself  without  two  men  and  a  boy  hang- 
ing on  to  the  horse's  head." 

I  rode  towards  the  gate  and  Peter  joined  me  a 
few  minutes  later  on  his  second  horse.  He  praised 
my  riding  and  promised  he  would  mount  me  any 
day  in  the  week  if  I  could  only  get  some  one  to  ask 
me  down  to  Brackley  where  he  kept  his  horses ;  he 
said  the  Grafton  was  the  country  to  hunt  in  and 
that,  though  Tom  Firr,  the  huntsman  of  the  Quorn, 
was  the  greatest  man  in  England,  Frank  Beers  was 
hard  to  beat.  I  felt  pleased  at  hyis  admiration  for 
[144] 


VISCOUXT  GREY   OF  FALLODOK,   FRIEXD  OF  THE   ASQUITH    FAMILY 
AXD   SECRETARY   OF   STATE   FOR   FOREIGX   AFFAIRS    WHEN 
EXGLAXD  SENT  THE   ULTiaiATUM  TO 
GERMAXY  IX   1914 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

my  riding,  but  I  knew  Havoc  had  not  turned  a  hair 
and  that,  if  I  went  on  hunting,  I  should  kill  either 
myself,  Peter  or  some  one  else. 

* 'Aren't  you  nervous  when  you  see  a  helpless 
woman  riding  one  of  your  horses?"  I  said  to  him. 

Peter:  "No,  I  am  only  afraid  she'll  hurt  my 
horse!  I  take  her  off  pretty  quick,  I  can  tell  you, 
if  I  think  she's  going  to  spoil  my  sale;  but  I  never 
mount  a  woman.  Your  sister  is  a  magnificent  rider, 
or  I  would  never  have  put  her  on  that  horse.  Now 
come  along  and  with  any  luck  you  will  be  alone  with 
hounds  this  afternoon  and  Havoc  will  be  knocked 
down  at  Tattersalls  for  five  hundred  guineas." 

Margot:  "You  are  sure  you  want  me  to  go  on?" 

Peter:  "You  think  I  want  you  to  go  home? 
Very  well!    If  you  go     ...    I  go!" 

I  longed  to  have  the  courage  to  say,  "Let  us  both 
go  home,"  but  I  knew  he  would  think  that  I  was 
funking  and  it  was  still  early  in  the  day.  He  looked 
at  me  steadily  and  said : 

"I  will  do  exactly  what  you  like." 

I  looked  at  him,  but  at  that  moment  the  hounds 
came  in  sight  and  my  last  chance  was  gone.  We 
shogged  along  to  the  next  cover,  Havoc  as  mild  as 
milk.    I  was  amazed  at  Peter's  nerve :  if  any  horse 

[145] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

of  mine  had  taken  such  complete  charge  of  its  rider, 
I  should  have  been  in  a  state  of  anguish  till  I  had 
separated  them;  but  he  was  riding  along  talking 
and  laughing  in  front  of  me  in  the  highest  of  spirits. 
This  lack  of  sensitiveness  irritated  me  and  my  heart 
sank.  Before  reaching  the  cover,  Peter  came  up 
to  me  and  suggested  that  we  should  change  Havoc's 
bit.  I  then  perceived  he  was  not  quite  so  happy  as 
I  thought ;  and  this  determined  me  to  stick  it  out.  I 
thanked  him  demurely  and  added,  with  a  slight  and 
smiling  shrug: 

"I  fear  no  bit  can  save  me  to-day,  thank  you." 
At  which  Peter  said  with  visible  irritability: 
"Oh,  for  God's  sake  then  don't  let  us  go  on !    If 
you  hate  my  horse  I  vote  we  go  no  farther!" 

"What  a  cross  man!"  I  said  to  myself,  seeing  him 
flushed  and  snappy;  but  a  ringing  "Halloa!" 
brought  our  deliberations  to  an  abrupt  end. 

Havoc  and  I  shot  down  the  road,  passing  the 
blustering  field;  and,  hopping  over  a  gap,  we  found 
ourselves  close  to  the  hounds,  who  were  running 
hell-for-leather  towards  a  handsome  country  seat 
perched  upon  a  hill.  A  park  is  what  I  hate  most 
out  hunting:  hounds  invariably  lose  the  line,  thjB 
field  loses  its  way  and  I  lose  my  temper. 
[146] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  looked  round  to  see  if  my  benefactor  was  near 
me,  but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  Eight  or  ten 
hard  riders  were  behind  me;  they  shouted: 

"Don't  go  into  the  wood!  Turn  to  your  left! 
Don't  go  into  the  wood!" 

I  saw  a  fancy  gate  of  yellow  polished  oak  in  front 
of  me,  at  the  end  of  one  of  the  grass  rides  in  the 
wood,  and  what  looked  like  lawns  beyond.  I  was 
unable  to  turn  to  the  left  with  my  companions,  but 
plunged  into  the  trees  where  the  hounds  paused: 
not  so  Havoc,  who,  in  spite  of  the  deep  ground,  was 
still  going  great  guns.  A  lady  behind  me,  guessing 
what  had  happened,  left  her  companions  and  man- 
aged somehow  or  other  to  pass  me  in  the  ride ;  and, 
as  I  approached  the  yellow  gate,  she  was  holding  it 
open  for  me.  I  shouted  my  thanks  to  her  and  she 
shouted  back: 

"Get  off  when  you  stop!" 

This  was  my  fixed  determination,  as  I  had  ob- 
served that  Havoc's  tongue  was  over  the  bit  and 
he  was  not  aware  that  any  one  was  on  his  back,  nor 
was  he  the  least  tired  and  no  doubt  would  have 
jumped  the  yellow  gate  with  ease. 

After  leaving  my  saviour  I  was  joined  by  my 
former  companions.     The  hounds  had  picked  up 

[147] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

again  and  we  left  the  gate,  the  wood  and  the  country 
seat  behind  us.  Still  going  very  strong,  we  all 
turned  into  a  chalk  field  with  a  white  road  sunk 
between  two  high  banks  leading  down  to  a  ford. 
I  kept  on  the  top  of  the  bank,  as  I  was  afraid  of 
splashing  people  in  the  water,  if  not  knocking  them 
down.  Two  men  were  standing  by  the  fence  ahead, 
which  separated  me  from  what  appeared  to  be  a 
river;  and  I  knew  there  must  be  a  considerable 
drop  in  front  of  me.  They  held  their  hands  up  in 
warning  as  I  came  galloping  up;  I  took  my  foot 
out  of  the  stirrup  and  dropping  my  reins  gave  my- 
self up  for  lost,  but  in  spite  of  Havoc  slowing  up 
he  was  going  too  fast  to  stop  or  turn.  He  made  a 
magnificent  effort,  but  I  saw  the  water  twinkling 
below  me ;  and  after  that  I  knew  no  more. 

When  I  came  to,  I  was  lying  on  a  box  bed  in  a 
cottage,  with  Peter  and  the  lady  who  had  held  the 
yellow  gate  kneeling  by  my  side. 

"I  think  you  are  mad  to  put  any  one  on  that 
horse!"  I  heard  her  say  indignantly.  "You  know 
how  often  it  has  changed  hands;  and  you  yourself 
can  hardly  ride  it.'* 

Havoc  had  tried  to  scramble  down  the  bank, 
which  luckily  for  me  had  not  been  immediately 
[148] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

under  the  fence,  but  it  could  not  be  done,  so  we  took 
a  somersault  into  the  brook,  most  alarming  for  the 
people  in  the  ford  to  see.  However,  as  the  water 
was  deep  where  I  landed,  I  was  not  hurt,  but  had 
fainted  from  fear  and  exhaustion. 

Peter's  misery  was  profound ;  ice-white  and  in  an 
agony  of  fear,  he  was  warming  my  feet  with  both  his 
hands  while  I  watched  him  quietly.  I  was  taken 
home  in  a  brougham  by  my  kind  friend,  who  turned 
i  out  to  be  Mrs.  Bunbury,  a  sister  of  John  Watson, 
the  Master  of  the  Meath  hounds,  and  the  daughter 
.1  of  old  Mi^.  Watson,  the  Master  of  the  Carlow  and 
the  finest  rider  to  hounds  in  England. 

This  was  how  Peter  and  I  first  came  really  to 
know  each  other;  and  after  that  it  was  only  a 
question  of  time  when  our  friendship  developed  into 
a  serious  love-afFair.  I  stayed  with  Mrs.  Bunbury 
in  the  Grafton  country  that  winter  for  several 
weeks  and  was  mounted  by  every  one. 

As  Peter  was  a  kind  of  hero  in  the  hunting  field 
and  had  never  been  known  to  mount  a  woman,  I 
was  the  object  of  much  jealousy.  The  first  scene 
in  my  life  occurred  at  Brackley,  where  he  and  a 
friend  of  his,  called  Hatfield  Harter,  shared  a 
hunting  box  together. 

[149] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

There  was  a  lady  of  charm  and  beauty  in  the 
vicinity  who  went  by  the  name  of  Mrs.  Bo.  They 
said  she  had  gone  well  to  hounds  in  her  youth,  but 
I  had  never  observed  her  jump  a  twig.  She  often 
joined  us  when  Peter  and  I  were  changing  horses 
and  once  or  twice  had  ridden  home  with  us.  Peter 
did  not  appear  to  like  her  much,  but  I  was  too  busy 
to  notice  this  one  way  or  the  other.  One  day  I  said 
to  him  I  thought  he  was  rather  snubby  to  her  and 
added:  |l 

"After  all,  she  must  have  been  a  very  pretty 
woman  when  she  was  young  and  I  don't  think  it's 
nice  of  you  to  show  such  irritation  when  she  joins 

Peter:  "Do  you  call  her  old?" 

Margot:  "Well,  oldish  I  should  say.  She  must 
be  over  thirty,  isn't  she?" 

Peter:  "Do  you  call  that  old?" 

Margot:  "I  don't  know!  How  old  are  you, 
Peter?" 

Peter:  "I  shan't  tell  you." 

One  day  I  rode  back  from  hunting,  having  got 

wet  to  the  skin.    I  had  left  the  Bunbury  brougham 

in  Peter's  stables  but  I  did  not  like  to  go  back  in 

wet  clothes;  so,  after  seeing  my  horse  comfortably 

[1501 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

gruelled,  I  walked  up  to  the  charming  lady's  house 
to  borrow  dry  clothes.  She  was  out,  but  her  maid 
gave  me  a  coat  and  skirt,  which — though  much  too 
big — served  my  purpose. 

After  having  tea  with  Peter,  who  was  ill  in  bed, 
I  drove  up  to  thank  the  lady  for  her  clothes.  She 
was  lying  on  a  long,  thickly  pillowed  couch,  smok- 
ing a  cigarette  in  a  boudoir  that  smelt  of  violets. 
She  greeted  me  coldly;  and  I  was  just  going  away 
when  she  threw  her  cigarette  into  the  fire  and,  sud- 
denly sitting  very  erect,  said : 

"Wait!    I  have  something  to  say  to  you," 

I  saw  by  the  expression  on  her  face  that  I  had 
no  chance  of  getting  away,  though  I  was  tired  and 
felt  at  a  strange  disadvantage  in  my  flowing  skirts. 

Mrs.  Bo:  "Does  it  not  strike  you  that  going  to 
tea  with  a  man  who  is  in  bed  is  a  thing  no  one  can 
do?" 

Margot:  "Going  to  see  a  man  who  is  ill?  No, 
certainly  not!" 

Mrs.  Bo  :  Well,  then  let  me  tell  you  for  your  own 
information  how  it  will  strike  other  people.  I  am 
a  much  older  woman  than  you  and  I  warn  you,  you 
can't  go  on  doing  this  sort  of  thing!    Why  should 

[151] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

you  come  down  here  among  all  of  us  who  are 

friends  and  make  mischief  and  create  talk?"  | 

',1 

I  felt  chilled  to  the  bone  and,  getting  up,  said: 

"I  think  I  had  better  leave  you  now,  as  I  am  tired 
and  you  are  angry." 

Mrs.  Bo  {standing  up  and  coming  very  close  to 
me) :  "Do  you  not  know  that  I  would  nurse  Peter 
Flower  through  yellow  fever!  But,  though  I  have 
lived  next  door  to  him  these  last  three  years,  I  would 
never  dream  of  doing  what  you  have  done  to-day." 

The  expression  on  her  face  was  so  intense  that  I 
felt  sorry  for  her  and  said  as  gently  as  I  could: 

"I  do  not  see  why  you  shouldn't!  Especially  if 
you  are  all  such  friends  down  here  as  you  say  you 
are.  However,  every  one  has  a  different  idea  of 
what  is  right  and  wrong.     ...    I  must  go  now !" 

I  was  determined  not  to  stay  a  moment  longer 
and  walked  to  the  door,  but  she  had  lost  her  head 
and  said  in  a  hard,  bitter  voice : 

"You  say  every  one  has  a  different  idea  of  right 
and  wrong,  but  I  should  say  you  have  none!" 

At  this  I  left  the  room. 

When  I  told  Mrs.  Bunbury  what  had  happened, 
all  she  said  was: 
[152] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"Cat!  She's  jealous!  Before  you  came  down 
here,  Peter  Flower  was  in  love  with  her." 

This  was  a  great  shock  to  me  and  I  determined 
I  would  leave  the  Grafton  country,  as  I  had  already 
been  away  far  too  long  from  my  own  people;  so  I 
wrote  to  Peter  saying  I  was  sorry  not  to  say  good- 
bye to  him,  but  that  I  had  to  go  home.  The  next 
day  was  Sunday.  I  got  my  usual  love-letter  from 
Peter — ^who,  whether  I  saw  him  or  not,  wrote  daily 
— telling  me  that  his  temperature  had  gone  up  again 
and  that  he  would  give  me  his  two  best  horses  on 
Monday,  as  he  was  not  allowed  to  leave  his  room. 
After  we  had  finished  lunch,  Peter  turned  up,  look- 
ing ill  and  furious.  Mrs.  Bunbury  greeted  him 
sweetly  and  said: 

"You  ought  to  be  in  bed,  you  know;  but,  since 
you  are  here,  I'll  leave  Margot  to  look  after  you 
while  Jacky  and  I  go  round  the  stables." 

When  we  were  left  to  ourselves,  Peter,  looking 
at  me,  said: 

"Well!  I've  got  your  letter!  What  is  all  this 
about?  Don't  you  know  there  are  two  horses 
coming  over  from  Ireland  this  week  which  I  want 
you  particularly  to  ride  for  me?" 

I  saw  that  he  was  thoroughly  upset  and  told  him 

[153] 


1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

that  I  was  going  home,  as  I  had  been  already  too 
long  away. 

"Have  your  people  written  to  you?"  he  said. 

Maegot:  "They  always  write.     .     .     ." 

Peter  {seeing  the  evasion) :  "What's  wrong?" 

Margot:  "What  do  you  mean?" 

Peter:  "You  know  quite  well  that  no  one  has 
asked  you  to  go  home.  Something  has  happened; 
some  one  has  said  something  to  you;  you've  been 
put  out.  After  all  it  was  only  yesterday  that  we 
were  discussing  every  meet;  and  you  promised  to 
give  me  a  lurcher.  What  has  happened  since  to 
change  you?" 

Margot:  "Oh,  what  does  it  matter?  I  can  always 
come  down  here  again  later  on." 

Peter:  "How  wanting  in  candour  you  are!  You 
are  not  a  bit  like  what  I  thought  you  were !" 

Margot  (*tt;^^%) : '*No.     .     .     .?" 

Peter:  "Not  a  bit!  You  are  a  regular  woman. 
I  thought  differently  of  you  somehow!" 

Margot:  "You  thought  I  was  a  dog-fancier  or 
a  rough-rider,  did  you,  with  a  good  thick  skin?" 

Peter:  "I  fail  to  understand  you!  Are  you  al- 
luding to  the  manners  of  my  horses  ?" 

Margot:  "No,  to  your  friends." 
[154] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Peter:  "Ah!  Ah!  Nous  y  sommes!  .  .  . 
How  can  you  be  so  childish!  What  did  Mrs.  Bo 
say  to  you?" 

Margot:  "Oh,  spare  me  from  going  into  your 
friends'  affairs!" 

Peter  {flushed  with  temper,  but  trying  to  con- 
trol himself) :  "What  does  it  matter  what  an  old 
woman  says  whose  nose  has  been  put  out  of  joint 
in  the  hunting-field?" 

Margot:  "You  told  me  she  was  young." 

Peter:  "What  an  awful  lie!  You  said  she  was 
pretty  and  I  disagreed  with  you."  Silence.  "What 
did  she  say  to  you?  I  tell  you  she  is  jealous  of  you 
in  the  hunting-field!" 

Margot:  "No,  she's  not;  she's  jealous  of  me  in 
your  bedroom  and  says  I  don't  know  right  from 
wrong." 

Peter  (startled  at  first  and  then  bursting  out 
laughing) :  "There's  nothing  very  original  about 
that!" 

Margot  (indignantly) :  "Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  it's  a  platitude?  And  that  I  don't  know  right 
from  wrong?" 

Peter  (taking  my  hands  and  kissing  them  with 
a  sigh  of  intense  relief) :  "I  wonder!" 

[155] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Margot  {getting  up) :  "Well,  after  that,  noth- 
ing will  induce  me  to  stay  down  here  or  ride  any  of 
your  horses  ever  again!  No  regiment  of  soldiers 
will  keep  me!" 

Peter:  "Really,  darling,  hew  can  you  be  so  fool- 
ish !  Who  would  ever  think  it  wrong  to  go  and  see 
a  poor  devil  ill  in  bed!  You  had  to  ride  my  horse 
back  to  its  stable. and  it  was  your  duty  to  come  and 
ask  after  me  and  thank  me  for  all  my  kindness  to 
you  and  the  good  horses  I've  put  you  on!" 

Margot:  "Evidently  in  this  country  I  am  not 
wanted,  Mrs.  Bo  said  so;  and  you  ought  to  have 
warned  me  you  were  in  love  with  her.  You  said  I 
was  not  the  woman  you  thought  I  was :  well,  I  can 
say  the  same  of  you!" 

At  this  Peter  got  up  and  all  his  laughter  dis- 
appeared. 

"Do  you  mean  what  you  say?  Is  this  the  im- 
pression you  got  from  talking  to  Mrs.  Bo?"  j 

Margot:  "Yes."  i 

Peter:  "In  that  case  I  will  go  and  see  her  and 
ask  her  which  of  the  two  of  you  is  lying!  If  it's 
you,  you  needn't  bother  yourself  to  leave  this  coun- 
try, for  I  shall  sell  my  horses.  ...  I  wish  to 
God  I  had  never  met  youl" 

[156]  I 

I 
1 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

I  felt  very  uncomfortable  and  unhappy,  as  in  my 
heart  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Bo  had  never  said  Peter 
was  in  love  with  her;  she  had  not  alluded  to  his 
feelings  for  her  at  all.  I  got  up  to  stop  him  leaving 
the  room  and  put  myself  in  front  of  the  door. 

M argot:  "Really,  why  make  scenes!  There  is 
nothing  so  tiring;  and  you  know  quite  well  you  are 
ill  and  ought  to  go  to  bed.  Is  there  any  object  in 
going  round  the. country  discussing  me?" 

Peter:  "Just  go  away,  will  you?  I'm  ill  and 
want  to  get  off." 

I  did  not  move;  I  saw  he  was  white  with  rage. 
The  idea  of  going  round  the  country  talking  about 
me  was  more  than  he  could  bear;  so  I  said,  trying 
to  mollify  him : 

"If  you  want  to  discuss  me,  I  am  always  wiUing 
to  hsten;  there  is  nothing  I  enjoy  so  much  as  talk- 
Li  ing  about  myself." 
I     It  was  too  late.    All  he  said  to  me  was : 

"Do  you  mind  leaving  that  door?  You  tire  me 
I  and  it's  getting  dark." 

Margot:  "I  will  let  you  go,  but  promise  me  you 
I  won't  go  to  Mrs.  Bo  to-day;  or,  if  you  do,  tell  me 
what  you  are  going  to  say  to  her  first." 
'     Peter:  "You've  never  told  me  yet  what  she  said 

[157] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

to  you,  except  that  I  was  in  love  with  her,  so  why] 
should  I  tell  you  what  I  propose  saying  to  her  I  Forj 
once  you  cannot  have  it  all  your  own  way.  You  are 
so  spoilt  since  you've  been  down  here  that    .    . 

I  flung  the  door  wide  open  and,  before  he  could  j 
finish  his  sentence,  ran  up  to  my  room. 

Peter  was  curiously  upsetting  to  the  feminine 
sense ;  he  wanted  to  conceal  it  and  to  expose  it  at . 
the  same  time,  under  the  impression  it  might  arouse 
my  jealousy.  He  was  specially  angry  with  me  for 
dancing  with  King  Edward,  then  the  Prince  of 
Wales.  I  told  him  that  if  he  would  learn  to  waltz 
instead  of  prance  I  would  dance  with  him,  but  till 
he  did  I  should  choose  my  own  partners.  Over 
this  we  had  a  great  row;  and,  after  sitting  out  two 
dances  with  the  Prince,  I  put  on  my  cloak  and 
walked  round  to  40  Grosvenor  Square  without  say- 
ing good  night  to  Peter.  I  was  in  my  dressing- 
gown,  with  my  hair — ^my  one  claim  to  beauty — 
standing  out  all  round  my  head,  when  I  heard  a 
noise  in  the  street  and,  looking  down,  I  saw  Peter 
standing  on  the  wall  of  our  porch  gazing  across  an 
angle  of  the  area  into  the  open  window  of  our 
library,  contemplating,  I  presumed,  jumping  into 
[158] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

it;  I  raced  downstairs  to  stop  this  dangerous  folly, 
but  I  was  too  late  and,  as  I  opened  the  library- 
door,  he  had  given  a  cat-like  spring,  knocking  a 
flower-pot  down  into  the  area,  and  was  by  my  side. 
I  lit  two  candles  on  the  writing-table  and  scolded 
him  for  his  recklessness.  He  told  me  had  made  a 
great  deal  of  money  by  jumping  from  a  stand  on 
to  tables  and  things  and  once  he  had  won  «£500  by 
jumping  on  to  a  mantelpiece  when  the  fire  was 
burning.  As  we  were  talking  I  heard  voices  in 
the  area;  Peter,  with  the  instinct  of  a  burglar,  in- 
stantly lay  flat  on  the  floor  behind  the  sofa,  his 
head  under  the  valance  of  the  chintz,  and  I  remained 
at  the  writing-table,  smoking  my  cigarette;  this 
was  all  done  in  a  second.  The  door  opened;  I 
looked  round  and  was  blinded  by  the  blaze  of  a 
I  bull's-eye  lantern.  When  it  was  removed  from  my 
jface,  I  saw  two  policemen,  an  inspector  and  my 
father's  servant.  I  got  up  slowly  and,  with  my 
head  in  the  air,  sat  upon  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  block- 
ing the  only  possibility  of  Peter's  full  length  being 
seen. 

Margot  {with  great  dignity) :  "Is  this  a  prac- 
tical joke?" 
Inspectoe  (coolly) :  "Not  at  all,  madam,  but  it 

[159] 


.1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


I 


1 


is  only  right  to  tell  you  a  hansom  cabman  informed 
us  that,  as  he  was  passing  this  house  a  few  minute 
ago,  he  saw  a  man  jump  into  that  window." 

He  walked  away  from  me  and,  holding  his  lan- 
tern over  the  area,  peered  down  and  saw  the  broken 
flower-pot.  I  knew  lying  was  more  than  useless 
and,  as  the  truth  had  always  served  me  well,  I  said, 
giving  my  father's  servant,  who  looked  sleepy,  a 
heavy  kick  on  the  instep : 

"That  is  quite  true;  a  friend  of  mine  did  jump 
in  at  that  window,  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ago; 
but  {looking  down  with  a  sweet  and  modest  smile) 
he  was  not  a  burglar.     .     .     ." 

Henry  Hill  {my  father's  servant):  "How 
often  I've  told  you,  miss,  that,  as  long  as  Master 
Edward  loses  his  latch-keys,  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done  and  something  is  bound  to  happen!  One  day 
he  will  not  only  lose  the  latch-key,  but  his  life." 

Inspector:  "I'm  sorry  to  have  frightened  you, 
madam,  I  will  now  take  down  your  names.    .    .    ." 

Margot   {anxiously):  "Oh,  I  see,  you  have  to 
report  it  in  the  police  news,  have  you?    Has  the 
cabman  given  you  his  name?    He  ought  to  be  re-j 
warded,  he  might  have  saved  us  all!"  I 

I  felt  that  I  could  have  strangled  the  cabman, 
[160] 


y.  E.  GLADSTONE,  THE  GREAT  LIBERAL  STATESMAN,    WHOSE 
jfEPHEW,   ARTHUR   LYTTLETON,  MARRIED   LAURA 
ITKNANT,  M argot's  SISTER 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

but,  collecting  myself,  took  one  candle  off  the  writ- 
ing-table and,  blowing  the  other  out,  led  the  way  to 
the  library-door,  saying  slowly: 

"Margaret  .  .  .  Emma  .  .  .  Alice  Tennant. 
Do  I  have  to  add  my  occupation?" 

Inspector  {busily  writing  in  a  small  note-book) : 
"No,  thank  you."  (Turning  to  Hill)  "Your  name, 
please." 

My  father's  servant  was  thoroughly  roused  and 
I  regretted  my  kick  when  in  a  voice  of  thunder  he 
said: 

"Henry  Hastings  Appleby  Hill." 

I  felt  quite  sure  that  my  father  would  appear 
over  the  top  of  the  stair  and  then  all  would  be 
over;  but,  by  the  fortune  that  follows  the  brave, 
perfect  silence  reigned  throughout  the  house.     I 
j  walked  slowly  away,  while  Hill  led  the  three  police- 
men into  the  hall.    When  the  front  door  had  been 
barred  and  bolted,  I  ran  down  the  back  stairs  and 
said,  smiling  brightly: 
I      "I  shall  tell  my  father  all  about  this!    You  did 
"'  very  well;  good  night,  Hill." 

When  the  coast  was  clear,  I  returned  to  the 
library  with  my  heart  beating  and  shut  the  door. 
Peter  had  disentangled  himself  from  the  sofa  and 

[161] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

was  taking  fluff  off  his  coat  with  an  air  of  happ 
disengagement;  I  told  him  with  emphasis  that 
was  done  for,  that  my  name  would  be  ringing 
the  police  news  next  day  and  that  I  was  quite  sure 
by  the  inspector's  face  that  he  knew  exactly  wha 
had  happened;  that  all  this  came  from  Peter's  in 
fernal  temper,  idiotic  jealousy  and  complete  wan 
of  self-control.  Agitated  and  eloquent,  I  was  gooc 
for  another  ten  minutes'  abuse;  but  he  interruptec 
me  by  saying,  in  his  most  caressing  manner: 

"The  inspector  is  all  right,  my  dear!  He  is  a 
friend  of  mine !  I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  for  the 
whole  world:  you  were  magnificent!  Which  shall 
we  reward,  the  policeman,  the  cabman  or  Hill?" 

Margot:  "Don't  be  ridiculous!    What  do  yoi 
propose  doing?" 

Peter  {trying  to  hiss  my  hands  which  I  had  ptur 
posely  put  behind  my  back) :  "I  propose  having  a 
chat  with  Inspector  Wood  and  then  with  Hastings 
Appleby." 

Margot:  "How  do  you  know  Inspector  Wood, 
as  you  call  him?" 

Peter:  "He  did  a  friend  of  mine  a  very  good 
turn  once." 

Margot:  "What  sort  of  turn?" 
[162] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Peter:  "Sugar  Candy  insulted  me  at  the  Turf 
and  I  was  knocking  him  into  a  jelly  in  Brick  Street, 
when  Wood  intervened  and  saved  his  life.  I  can 
assure  you  he  would  do  anything  in  the  world  for 
me  and  I'll  make  it  all  right !  He  shall  have  a  hand- 
some present." 

Margot:  "How  vulgar!  Having  a  brawl  in 
Brick  Street!  How  did  you  come  to  be  in  the 
East-end?" 

Peter:  "East-end!  Why,  it's  next  to  Down 
Street,  out  of  Piccadilly." 

Margot:  "It's  very  wrong  to  bribe  the  police, 
Peter!" 

Peter:  "I'm  not  going  to  bribe  him,  governess! 
I'm  going  to  give  him  my  Airedale  terrier." 

Margot:  "What!  That  brute  that  killed  the 
lady's  lap-dog?" 

Peter:  "The  very  same!" 
I     Margot:  "God  help  poor  Wood!" 

Peter  was  so  elated  with  this  shattering  escapade 
that  a  week  after — on  the  occasion  of  another  row, 
jin  which  I  pointed  out  that  he  was  the  most  selfish 
'man  in  the  world — I  heard  him  whistling  under  my 
bedroom  window  at  midnight.  Afraid  lest  he  should 
wake  my  parents,  I  ran  down  in  my  dressing-gown 

[163] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

to  open  the  front  door,  but  nothing  would  indueei 
the  chain  to  move.    It  was  a  newly  acquired  habi« 
of  the  servants,  started  by  Henry  Hill  from  the 
night  he  had  barred  out  the  police.    Being  a  hope- 
less mechanic  and  particularly  weak  in  my  fingerj 
I  gave  it  up  and  went  to  the  open  window  in  th( 
library.  I  begged  him  to  go  away,  as  nothing  woul( 
induce  me  to  forgive  him,  and  I  told  him  that  mi 
papa  had  only  just  retired  to  bed. 

Peter,  unmoved,  ordered  me  to  take  the  flower- 
pots off  the  window-sill,  or  he  would  knock  them 
down  and  make  a  horrible  noise,  which  would  wake 
the  whole  house.  After  I  had  refused  to  do  this, 
he  said  he  would  very  likely  break  his  neck  when  he 
jumped,  as  clearing  the  pots  would  mean  hitting 
his  head  against  the  window  frame.  Fearing  an: 
explosion  of  temper,  I  weakly  removed  the  flower- 
pots and  watched  his  acrobatic  feat  with  delight. 

We  had  not  been  talking  on  the  sofa  for  more 
than  five  minutes  when  I  heard  a  shuffle  of  feet 
outside  the  library-door.  I  got  up  with  lightning 
rapidity  and  put  out  the  two  candles  on  the  writing- 
table  with  the  palms  of  my  hands,  returning  noise- 
lessly to  Peter's  side  on  the  sofa,  where  we  sat  in 
black  darkness.  The  door  opened  and  my  father 
[164] 

I 


i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

came  in  holding  a  bedroom  candle  in  his  hand;  he 
proceeded  to  walk  stealthily  round  the  room,  look- 
ing at  his  pictures.  The  sofa  on  which  we  were 
sitting  was  in  the  window  and  had  nothing  behind 
it  but  the  curtains.  He  held  his  candle  high  and 
close  to  every  picture  in  turn  and,  putting  his  head 
forward,  scanned  them  with  tenderness  and  love. 
I  saw  Peter's  idiotic  hat  and  stick  under  the  Gains- 
borough and  could  not  resist  nudging  him  as  "The 
Ladies  Erne  and  Dillon"  were  slowly  approached. 
A  candle  held  near  one's  face  is  the  most  blinding 
of  all  things  and,  after  inspecting  the  sloping 
shoulders  and  anaemic  features  of  the  Gainsborough 
ladies,  my  father,  quietly  himiming  to  himself,  re- 
jiUirned  to  his  bed. 

•  •••••• 

Things  did  not  always  go  so  smoothly  with  us. 
One  night  Peter  suggested  that  I  should  walk  away 
with  him  from  the  ball  and  try  an  American  trotter 
which  had  been  lent  to  him  by  a  friend.  As  it  was 
a  glorious  night,  I  thought  it  might  be  rather  fun, 
so  we  walked  down  Grosvenor  Street  into  Park 
Lane;  and  there  stood  the  buggy  under  a  lamp. 
American  trotters  always  appear  to  be  misshapen; 

•      [165] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

they  are  like  coloured  prints  that  are  not  quite  ini 
drawing  and  have  never  attracted  me. 

After  we  had  placed  ourselves  firmly  in  the 
rickety  buggy,  Peter  said  to  the  man  as  he  took  the 
reins : 

"Let  him  go,  please!"  I 

And  go  he  did,  with  a  curious  rapid,  swaying 
waddle.  There  was  no  traffic  and  we  turned  into 
the  Edgware  Road  towards  Hendon  at  a  great 
pace,  but  Peter  was  a  bad  driver  and  after  a  little 
time  said  his  arms  ached  and  he  thought  it  was  time 
the  "damned"  horse  was  made  to  stop. 

"I'm  told  the  only  way  to  stop  an  American 
trotter,"  said  he,  "is  to  hit  him  over  the  head." 

At  this  I  took  the  whip  out  of  the  socket  and 
threw  it  into  the  road. 

Peter,  maddened  by  my  action,  shoved  the  reins 
into  my  hands,  saying  he  would  jump  out.  I  did 
not  take  the  smallest  notice  of  this  threat,  but 
slackened  the  reins,  after  which  we  w^ent  quite 
slowly.  I  need  hardly  say  Peter  did  not  jump  out, 
but  suggested  with  severity  that  we  should  go  back 
and  look  for  the  whip. 

This  was  the  last  thing  I  intended  to  do,  so  when 

we  turned  I  leant  back  in  my  seat  and  tugged  at  the 

[166] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

trotter  with  all  my  might,  and  we  flew  home  with- 
out uttering  a  single  word. 

I  was  an  excellent  driver,  hut  that  night  had 
taxed  all  my  powers  and,  when  we  pulled  up  at  the 
corner  of  Grosvenor  Square,  I  ached  in  every  limb. 
We  were  not  in  the  habit  of  arriving  together  at 
the  front  door;  and  after  he  had  handed  me  down 
to  the  pavement  I  felt  rather  awkward:  I  had  no 
desire  to  break  the  silence,  but  neither  did  I  want  to 
take  away  Peter's  coat,  which  I  was  wearing,  so  I 
said  tentatively: 

"Shall  I  give  you  your  covert-coat?" 

Peter:  "Don't  be  childish!  How  can  you  walk 
back  to  the  front  door  in  your  ball-dress?  If  any 
one  happened  to  be  looking  out  of  the  window,  what 
would  they  think?" 

This  was  really  more  than  I  could  bear.  I 
wrenched  off  his  coat  and  placing  it  firmly  on  his 
arm,  said: 

"Most  people,  if  they  are  sensible,  are  sound 
asleep  at  this  time  of  the  night,  but  I  thank  you  all 
the  same  for  your  consideration." 

We  turned  testily  away  from  each  other  and  I 
walked  home  alone.  When  I  reached  our  front 
door  my  father  opened  it  and,  seeing  me  in  my 

[167] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

white  tulle  dress,  was  beside  himself  with  rage.  Hei 
asked  me  if  I  would  kindly  explain  what  I  wasj 
doing,  walking  in  the  streets  in  my  ball-dress  at  two 
in  the  morning.  I  told  him  exactly  what  had  hap- 
pened and  warned  him  soothingly  never  to  buy  an 
American  trotter;  he  told  me  that  my  reputation 
was  ruined,  that  his  was  also  and  that  my  behaviour 
would  kill  my  mother;  I  put  my  arms  round  his 
neck,  told  him  soothingly  that  I  had  not  really  en  j  oyed 
myself  at  all  and  promised  him  that  I  would  never 
do  it  again.  By  this  time  my  mother  had  come  out  of 
her  bedroom  and  was  leaning  over  the  staircase  in 
her  dressing-gown.  She  said  in  a  pleading  voice : 

"Pray  do  not  agitate  yourself,  Charlie.  You've 
done  a  very  wrong  action,  Margot!  You  really 
ought  to  have  more  consideration  for  your  father: 
no  one  knows  how  impressionable  he  is.  .  .  . 
Please  tell  Mr.  Flower  that  we  do  not  approve  of 
him  at  all!     .     .     ." 

Margot:  "You  are  absolutely  right,  dear 
mamma,  and  that  is  exactly  what  I  have  said  to  him 
more  than  once.  But  you  need  not  worry,  for  no 
one  saw  us.  Let's  go  to  bed,  darling,  I'm  dog- 
tired!"  4 

[168] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Peter  was  thoroughly  inconsequent  about  money 
and  a  great  gambler;  he  told  me  one  day  in  sorrow 
that  his  only  chance  of  economising  was  to  sell  his 
horses  and  go  to  India  to  shoot  big  game,  inci- 
dentally escaping  his  creditors. 

When  Peter  went  to  India  I  was  very  unhappy, 
but  to  please  my  people  I  told  them  I  would  say 
good-bye  and  not  write  to  him  for  a  year,  a  promise 
which  was  faithfully  kept. 

While  he  was  away,  a  young  man  of  rank  and 
fortune  fell  in  love  with  me  out  hunting.  He  never 
proposed,  he  only  declared  himself.  I  liked  him 
particularly,  but  his  attention  sat  lightly  on  me; 
this  rather  nettled  him  and  he  told  me  one  day  rid- 
ing home  in  the  dark,  that  he  was  sure  I  must  be 
in  love  with  somebody  else.  I  said  that  it  did  not 
at  all  follow  and  that,  if  he  were  wise  he  would  stop 
talking  about  love  and  go  and  buy  himself  some 
good  horses  for  Leicestershire,  where  I  was  going 
in  a  week  to  hunt  with  Lord  Manners.  We  were 
staying  together  at  Cholmondeley  Castle,  in 
Cheshire,  with  my  beloved  friend,  Winifred  Chol- 
mondeley,* then  Lady  Rocksavage. 

My  new  young  man  took  my  advice  and  went  up 

•The  Marchioness  of  Cholmondeley. 

[169] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

to  London,  promising  he  would  lend  me  "two  of 
the  best  that  money  could  buy"  to  take  to  Melton, 
where  he  proposed  shortly  to  follow  me. 

When  he  arrived  at  Tattersalls  there  were  several 
studs  of  well-known  horses  being  sold:  Jack 
Trotter's,  Sir  William  Eden's  and  Lord  Lons- 
dale's. Among  the  latter  was  a  famous  hunter, 
called  Jack  Madden,  which  had  once  belonged  to 
Peter  Flower;  and  my  friend  determined  he  would 
buy  it  for  me.    Some  one  said  to  him:  1 

"I  don't  advise  you  to  buy  that  horse,  as  you 
won't  be  able  to  ride  it!" 

(The  fellow  who  related  this  to  me  added,  "As 
you  know,  Miss  Tennant,  this  is  the  only  certain 
way  by  which  you  can  sell  any  horse.") 

Another  man  said: 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,  the  horse  is  all  right; 
when  it  belonged  to  Flower  I  saw  Miss  Margot 
going  like  a  bird  on  it.     ..." 

My  Friend:  "Did  Miss  Tennant  ride  Flower's 
horses?" 

At  this  the  other  fellow  said: 

"Why,  my  dear  man,  where  Aat;^  you  lived!  .  .  .*' 

Some  months  after  I  had  ridden  Jack  Madden 
[170] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

and  my  own  horses  over  high  Leicestershire,  my 
friend  came  to  see  me  and  asked  me  to  swear  on 
my  Bible  oath  that  I  would  not  give  him  away  over 
a  secret  which  he  intended  to  tell  me. 
After  I  had  taken  my  solemn  oath  he  said: 
"Your  friend  Peter  Flower  in  India  was  going 
to  be  put  in  the  bankruptcy  court  and  turned  out  of 
every  club  in  London;  so  I  went  to  Sam  Lewis  and 
paid  his  debt,  but  I  don't  want  him  to  know  about 
it  and  he  never  need,  unless  you  tell  him." 

Margot:  "What  does  he  owe?    And  whom  does 

he  owe  it  to  ?" 

My  Friend  :  "He  owes  ten  thousand  pounds,  but 

m^  not  at  liberty  to  tell  you  who  it's  to;  he  is  a 

'^mend  of  mine  and  a  very  good  fellow.    I  can  assure 

you  that  he  has  waited  longer  than  most  people 

would  for  Flower  to  pay  him  and  I  think  he's  done 

the  right  thing." 

Margot:  "Is  Peter  Flower  a  friend  of  yours?" 

My  Friend:  "I  don't  know  him  by  sight  and 

have  never  spoken  to  him  in  my  life,  but  he's  the 

man  you're  in  love  with  and  that  is  enough  for  me." 

When  the  year  was  up  and  Peter — for  all  I  knew 
— was  still  in  India,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that, 

[171] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

come  what  might,  I  would  never,  under  any  cir- . 
cumstances,  renew  my  relations  with  him.  ^ 

That  winter  I  was  staying  with  the  Manners, 
as  usual,  and  finding  myself  late  for  a  near  meet  cut 
across  country.  Larking  is  always  a  stupid  thing 
to  do;  horses  that  have  never  put  a  foot  wrong 
generally  refuse  the  smallest  fence  and  rather  than 
upset  them  at  the  beginning  of  the  day  you  end  by 
going  through  the  gate,  which  you  had  better  have 
done  at  first. 

I  had  a  mare  called  Molly  Bawn,  given  to  me  by 
my  fiance,  who  was  the  finest  timber- jumper  in 
Leicestershire,  and,  seeing  the  people  at  the  meet 
watching  me  as  I  approached,  I  could  not  resist,  out 
of  pure  swagger,  jumping  an  enormous  gate.  I 
said  to  myself  how  disgusted  Peter  would  have  been 
at  my  vulgarity !  But  at  the  same  time  it  put  me  in 
good  spirits.  Something,  however,  made  me  turn 
round;  I  saw  a  man  behind  me,  jumping  the  fence 
beside  my  gate;  and  there  was  Peter  Flower!  He 
was  in  tearing  spirits  and  told  me  with  eagerness 
how  completely  he  had  turned  over  a  new  leaf  and 
never  intended  doing  this,  that  or  the  other  again, 
as  far  the  most  wonderful  thing  had  happened  to 
him  that  ever  happened  to  any  one. 
[172] 


i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"I'm  under  a  lucky  star,  Margie!  By  heavens  I 
am!  And  the  joy  of  seeing  you  is  so  great  that  I 
won't  allude  to  the  gate,  or  Molly  Bawn,  or  you,  or 
any  thing  ugly!  Let  us  enjoy  ourselves  for  once; 
and  for  God's  sake  don't  scold  me.  Are  you  glad 
to  see  me?  Let  me  look  at  you !  Which  do  you  love 
best,  Molly  Bawn  or  me  ?   Don't  answer  but  listen." 

He  then  proceeded  to  tell  me  how  his  debts  had 
been  paid  by  Sam  Lewis — the  money-lender — 
through  an  unknown  benefactor  and  how  he  had 
begged  Lewis  to  tell  who  it  was,  but  that  he  had 
refused,  having  taken  his  oath  never  to  reveal  the 
name.  My  heart  beat  and  I  said  a  remarkably 
stupid  thing: 

"How  wonderful!  But  you'll  have  to  pay  him 
back,  Peter,  won't  you?" 

Peter:  "Oh,  indeed!  Then  perhaps  you  can  tell 
me  who  it  is.     .     .     ." 

Margot:  "How  can  I?" 

Peter:  "Do  you  know  who  it  is?" 

Margot:  "I  do  not." 

I  felt  the  cock  ought  to  have  crowed,  but  I  said 
nothing;  and  Peter  was  so  busy  greeting  his  friends 
in  the  field  that  I  prayed  he  had  not  observed  my 
guilty  face. 

[173] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Some  days  after  this  there  was  a  race  meeting  at 
Leicester.  Lord  Lonsdale  took  a  special  at  Oak- 
ham for  the  occasion  and  the  Manners,  Peter  and 
I  all  went  to  the  races.  When  I  walked  into  the 
paddock,  I  saw  my  new  friend — the  owner  of  Jack 
Madden — ^talking  to  the  Prince  of  Wales.  When 
we  joined  them,  the  Prince  suggested  that  we 
should  go  and  see  Mrs.  Langtry's  horse  start,  as  it 
was  a  great  rogue  and  difficult  to  mount. 

As  we  approached  the  Langtry  horse,  the  crowd 
made  way  for  us  and  I  found  my  friend  next  to  me ; 
on  his  other  side  was  Peter  Flower  and  then  the 
Prince.  The  horse  had  his  eyes  bandaged  and  one 
of  his  forelegs  was  being  held  by  a  stable-boy. 
When  the  jockey  was  up  and  the  bandage  removed, 
it  jumped  into  the  air  and  gave  an  extended  and 
violent  buck.  I  was  standing  so  near  that  I  felt 
the  draught  of  its  kick  on  my  hair.  At  this  my 
friend  gave  a  slight  scream  and,  putting  his  arm 
round  me,  pulled  me  back  towards  him.  A  miss  is 
as  good  as  a  mile,  so  after  thanking  him  for  his 
protection  I  chatted  cheerfully  to  the  Prince  of 
Wales. 

There  is  nothing  so  tiring  as  racing  and  we  all  sat 
[174] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

in  perfect  silence  going  home  in  the  special  that 
evening. 

Neither  at  dinner  nor  after  had  I  any  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  to  Peter,  but  I  observed  a  singu- 
larly impassive  expression  on  his  face.  The  next 
day — being  Sunday — I  asked  him  to  go  round  the 
stables  with  me  after  church ;  he  refused,  so  I  went 
alone.  After  dinner  I  tried  again  to  talk  to  him, 
but  he  would  not  answer;  he  did  not  look  angry, 
but  he  appeared  to  be  profoundly  sad,  which  de- 
pressed me.  He  told  Hoppy  Manners  he  was  not 
going  to  hunt  that  week  as  he  feared  he  would  have 
to  be  in  London.  My  heart  sank.  We  all  went  to 
our  rooms  early  and  Peter  remained  downstairs 
reading.  As  he  never  read  in  winter  I  knew  there 
was  something  seriously  wrong,  so  I  went  down  in 
my  tea-gown  to  see  him.  It  was  nearly  midnight. 
The  room  was  empty  and  we  were  alone.  He  never 
looked  up. 

Margot:  "Peter,  you've  not  spoken  to  me  once 
since  the  races.    What  can  have  happened?" 

Peter:  "I  would  rather  you  left  me,  please, 
.     .     .     Pray  go  back  to  your  room." 

Margot  {sitting  on  the  sofa  beside  him) :  "Won't 
you  speak  to  me  and  tell  me  all  about  it?" 

[175] 


» 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Peter  put  down  his  book,  and  looking  at  me 
steadily,  said  very  slowly: 

"I'd  rather  not  speak  to  a  liar!" 

I  stood  up  as  if  I  had  been  shot  and  said: 

"How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing!" 

Peter:  "You  lied  to  me." 

Margot:  "When?" 

Peter:  "You  know  perfectly  well!  And  you 
are  in  love!  You  know  you  are.  Will  you  deny 
it?" 

"Oh!  it's  this  that  worries  you,  is  it?"  said  I 
sweetly.  "What  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  I  was 
notr 

Peter  :  "I  would  say  you  were  lying  again." 

Margot:  "Have  I  ever  lied  to  you,  Peter?" 

Peter:  "How  can  I  tell?  {Shrugging  his 
shoulders)  You  have  lied  twice,  so  I  presume  since 
I've  been  away  you've  got  into  the  habit  of  it." 

Margot:  "Peter!" 

Peter:  "A  man  doesn't  scream  and  put  his  arm 

round  a  woman,  as  D ly  did  at  the  races  to-day, 

unless  he  is  in  love.    Will  you  tell  me  who  paid  my 
debt,  please?" 

Margot:  "No,  I  won't." 

Peter:  "Was  it  D ly?" 

[176] 


I 


FOUR  GEKERATIONS  OF  ENGLAND  S  ROYAL  FAMILY:  QUEEN 
VICTORIA,   KING  EDWARD  VII,   KING  GEORGE  V  AND 
HIS  SON,  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES 


I 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Margot:  "I  sHan't  tell  you.  I'm  not  Sam  Lewis; 
and,  since  I'm  such  a  liar,  is  it  worth  while  asking 
me  these  stupid  questions?" 

Peter:  "Ah,  Margot,  this  is  the  worst  blow  of 
my  life!  I  see  you  are  deceiving  me.  I  know  who 
paid  my  debt  now." 

Margot:  "Then  why  ask  me?  .  .  ." 

Peter:  "When  I  went  to  India  I  had  never 

spoken  to  D ly  in  my  life.     Why  should  he 

have  paid  my  debts  for  me?  You  had  much  better 
tell  me  the  simple  truth  and  get  it  over:  it's  all 
settled  and  you're  going  to  marry  him." 

Margot:  "Since  I've  got  into  the  way  of  lying, 
you  might  spare  yourself  and  me  these  vulgar 
questions." 

Peter  {seizing  my  hands  in  anguish) :  "Say  you 
aren't  going  to  maiTy  him  .  .  .  tell  me,  tell 
me  it's  not  true." 

Margot:  "Why  should  I?  He  has  never  asked 
me  to," 

•  •••••• 

After  this  the  question  of  matrimony  was  bound 
to  come  up  between  us.  The  first  time  it  was  talked 
of,  I  was  filled  with  anxiety.  It  seemed  to  put  a 
finish  to  the  radiance  of  our  friendship  and,  worse 

[177] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

than  that,  it  brought  me  up  against  my  father,  who  | 
had  often  said  to  me: 

"You  will  never  marry  Flower;  you  must  marry 
your  superior." 

Peter  himself,  in  a  subconscious  way,  had  be- 
come aware  of  the  situation.  One  evening,  riding 
home,  he  said: 

"Margie,  do  you  see  that?" 

He  pointed  to  the  spire  of  the  Melton  Church 
and  added: 

"That  is  what  you  are  in  my  life.  I  am  not  worth 
the  button  on  your  boot !" 

To  which  I  replied: 

"I  would  not  say  that,  but  I  cannot  find  goodness  ^ 
for  two." 

I  was  profundly  unhappy.  To  live  for  ever  with 
a  man  who  was  incapable  of  loving  any  one  but 
himself  and  me,  who  was  without  any  kind  of  moral 
ambition  and  chronically  indifferent  to  politics  and 
religion,  was  a  nightmare. 

I  said  to  him : 

"I  will  marry  you  if  you  get  some  serious  occu- 
pation, Peter,  but  I  won't  marry  an  idle  man;  you 
think  of  nothing  but  yourself  and  me." 

[178]  J 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Peter:  "What  in  the  name  of  goodness  would 
you  have  me  think  of?    Geography?" 

Margot:  "You  know  exactly  what  I  mean. 
Your  power  lies  in  love-making,  not  in  loving;  you 
don't  love  any  one  but  yourself." 

At  this,  Peter  moved  away  from  me  as  if  I  had 
struck  him  and  said  in  a  low  tense  voice : 

"I  am  glad  I  did  not  say  that.  I  would  not  care 
to  have  said  such  a  cat-cruel  thing;  but  I  pity  the 
man  who  marries  you!  He  will  think — as  I  did — 
that  you  are  impulsively,  throbbingly  warm  and 
kind  and  gentle;  and  he  will  find  that  he  has  mar- 
ried a  governess  and  a  prig;  and  a  woman  whose 
fire — of  which  she  boasts  so  much — blasts  his  soul." 

I  listened  to  a  Peter  I  had  never  heard  before, 
■  His  face  frightened  me.  It  indicated  suffering.  I 
put  my  head  against  his  and  said : 

"How  can  I  make  an  honest  man  of  you,  my 
dearest?" 

•  •••••• 

I  was  getting  quite  clever  about  people,  as  the 
Mrs.  Bo  episode  had  taught  me  a  lot. 

A  short  time  after  this  conversation,  I  observed 
a  dark,  good-looking  woman  pursuing  Peter 
Flower  at  every  ball  and  party.    He  told  me  when 

[179] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  teased  him  that  she  failed  to  arrest  his  attention 
and  that,  for  the  first  time  in  my  hf e,  I  flattered  him 
by  my  jealousy.  I  persisted  and  said  that  I  did  not 
know  if  it  was  jealousy  but  that  I  was  convinced 
she  was  a  bad  friend  for  him. 

Peter:  "I've  always  noticed  you  think  things 
bad  when  they  don't  suit  you,  but  why  should  I 
give  up  my  life  to  you?  What  do  you  give  me  in 
return?  I'm  the  laughing-stock  of  London!  But, 
if  it  is  any  satisfaction  to  you,  I  will  tell  you  I 
don't  care  for  the  black  lady,  as  you  call  her,  and 
I  never  see  her  except  at  parties."  . 

I  knew  Peter  as  well  as  a  cat  knows  its  way  in 
the  dark  and  I  felt  the  truth  of  his  remark:  what 
did  I  give  him?  But  I  was  not  in  a  humour  to 
argue. 

The  lady  often  asked  me  to  go  and  see  her,  but 
I  shrank  from  it  and  had  never  been  inside  her 
house. 

One  day  I  told  Peter  I  would  meet  him  at  the 
Soane  Collection  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  To  my 
surprise  he  said  he  had  engaged  himself  to  see  his 
sister,  who  had  been  ill,  and  pointed  out  with  a 
laugh  that  my  governessing  was  taking  root.  He 
added: 
[180] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"I  don't  mind  giving  it  up  if  you  can  spend  the 
whole  afternoon  with  me." 

I  told  him  I  would  not  have  him  give  up  going 
to  see  his  sister  for  the  world. 

Finding  myself  at  a  loose  end,  I  thought  I  would 
pay  a  visit  to  the  black  lady,  as  it  was  unworthy  of 
me  to  have  such  a  prejudice  against  some  one  whom 
I  did  not  know.  It  was  a  hot  London  day;  pale 
colours,  thin  stuffs,  naked  throats  and  large  hats 
were  strewn  about  the  parks  and  streets. 

When  I  arrived,  the  lady's  bell  was  answered  by 
a  hall-boy  and,  hearing  the  piano,  I  told  him  he 
need  not  announce  me.  When  I  opened  the  door, 
I  saw  Peter  and  the  dark  lady  sharing  the  same 
seat  in  front  of  the  open  piano.  She  wore  a  black 
satin  sleeveless  tea-gown,  cut  low  at  the  throat, 
with  a  coral  ribbon  round  her  waist,  and  she  had 
stuck  a  white  rose  in  her  rather  dishevelled  Carmen 
hair.  I  stood  still,  startled  by  her  beauty  and 
stunned  by  Peter's  face.  She  got  up,  charmed  to 
see  me,  and  expressed  her  joy  at  the  amazing  luck 
which  had  brought  me  there  that  very  afternoon, 
as  she  had  a  wonderful  Spaniard  coming  to  play  to 
her  after  tea  and  she  had  often  been  told  by  Peter 
how  musical  I  was,  etc.,  etc.    She  hoped  I  was  not 

[181] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

shocked  by  her  appearance,  but  she  has  just  come 
back  from  a  studio  and  it  was  too  hot  to  expect 
people  to  get  into  decent  clothes.  She  was  per- 
fectly at  her  ease  and  more  than  welcoming;  before 
I  could  answer,  she  rallied  Peter  and  said  she 
pleaded  guilty  of  having  lured  him  away  from  the 
path  of  duty  that  afternoon,  ending  with  a  slight 
twinkle : 

"From  what  I'm  told,  Miss  Margot,  you  would 
never  have  done  anything  so  wicked?     .     .     ." 

I  felt  ice  in  my  blood  and  said: 

"You  needn't  believe  that !  I've  lured  him  away 
from  the  path  of  duty  for  the  last  eight  years, 
haven't  I,  Peter?" 

There  was  an  uncomfortable  silence  and  I  looked 
about  for  a  means  of  escape,  but  it  took  me  some 
little  time  to  find  one. 

I  said  good-bye  and  left  the  house. 

When  I  was  alone  I  locked  the  door,  flung  my- 
self on  my  sofa,  and  was  blinded  by  tears.  Peter 
was  right;  he  had  said,  "Why  should  I  give  up  my 
life  to  you?"  Why  indeed!  And  yet,  after  eight 
years,  this  seemed  a  terrible  ending  to  me. 

"What  do  you  give  me  in  return?"  What  indeed? 
What  claim  had  I  to  his  fidelity?  I  thought  I  was 
[182] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

giving  gold  for  silver,  but  the  dark  lady  would  have 
called  it  copper  for  gold.  Was  she  prepared  to 
give  everything  for  nothing?  Why  should  I  call 
it  nothing?  What  did  I  knovr  of  Peter's  love  for 
her?  All  I  knew  was  she  had  taught  him  to  lie; 
and  he  must  love  her  very  much  to  do  that:  he  had 
never  lied  to  me  before. 

I  went  to  the  opera  that  night  with  my  father  and 
mother.  Peter  came  into  our  box  in  a  state  of 
intense  misery;  I  could  hardly  look  at  him.  He 
put  his  hand  out  toward  me  under  the  programme 
and  I  took  it. 

At  that  moment  the  servant  brought  me  a  note 
and  asked  me  to  give  her  the  answer.  I  opened  it 
and  this  was  what  I  read: 

"If  you  want  to  do  a  very  kind  thing  come  and 
see  me  after  the  opera  to-night.  Don't  say  no." 

I  showed  it  to  Peter,  and  he  said,  "Go."  It  was 
from  the  dark  lady;  I  asked  him  what  she  wanted 
me  for  and  he  said  she  was  terribly  unhappy. 

"Ah,  Peter,"  said  I,  "what  have  you  done?  .  .  ." 

Peter:  "I  know  .  .  .  it's  quite  true;  but 
I've  broken  it  off  for  ever  with  her." 

Nothing  he  could,  have  said  then  would  have 
lightened  my  heart. 

.       [183] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  scribbled,  "Yes,"  on  the  same  paper  and  gave 
it  back  to  the  girl. 

When  I  said  good  night  to  my  mother  that  night 
after  the  opera,  I  told  her  where  I  was  going. 
Peter  was  standing  in  the  front  hall  and  took  me  inj 
a  hansom  to  the  lady's  house,  saying  he  would  wait' 
for  me  round  the  corner  while  I  had  my  interview 
with  her.  I 

It  was  past  midnight  and  I  felt  overpoweringly  I 
tired.  My  beautiful  rival  opened  the  front  door  to  : 
me  and  I  followed  her  silently  up  to  her  bedroom. 
She  took  off  my  opera-cloak  and  we  sat  down 
facing  each  other.  The  room  was  large  and  dark 
but  for  a  row  of  candles  on  the  mantel-piece  and 
two  high  church-lights  each  side  of  a  isilver  pier- 
glass.  There  was  a  table  near  my  chair  with  odds 
and  ends  on  it  and  a  general  smell  of  scent  and 
flowers.  I  looked  at  her  in  her  blue  satin  night- 
gown and  saw  that  she  had  been  crying.  ^ 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  have  come,"  she  said,  "an(P 
I  daresay  you  know  why  I  wanted  to  see  you 
to-night." 

Margot:  "No,  I  don't;  I  haven't  the  faintes 
idea!" 

[184] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

The  Lady  {looking  rather  embarrassed,  but 
after  a  momenfs  pause) :  "I  want  you  to  tell  me 
about  yourself." 

I  felt  this  to  be  a  wrong  entry:  she  had  sent  for 
me  to  tell  her  about  Peter  Flower  and  not  myself; 
but  why  should  I  tell  her  about  either  of  us?  I 
had  never  spoken  of  my  love-affairs  excepting  to 
my  mother  and  my  three  friends — Con  Manners, 
Frances  Homer,  and  Etty  Desborough — and 
people  had  ceased  speaking  to  me  about  them ;  why 
I  should  I  sit  up  with  a  stranger  and  discuss  myself 
at  this  time  of  night?  I  said  there  was  nothing  to 
tell.  She  answered  by  saying  she  had  met  so 
many  people  who  cared  for  me  that  she  felt  she 

tnost  knew  me,  to  which  I  replied: 
"In  that  case,  why  talk  about  me?" 
The  Lady:  "But  some  people  care  for  both  of 
." 

Margot  {rather  coldly) :  "I  daresay." 
The  Lady:  "Don't  be  hard,  I  want  to  know  if 
you  love  Peter  Flower.     .     .     .    Do  you  intend 
to  marry  him?" 

The  question  had  come  then:  this  terrible  question 
which  my  mother  had  never  asked  and  which  I  had 

[1851 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

always  evaded!    Had  it  got  to  be  answered  now 
.     .     .     and  to  a  stranger? 

With  a  determined  effort  to  control  myself  I 
said: 

"You  mean,  am  I  engaged  to  be  married?" 

The  Lady:  "I  mean  what  I  say;  are  you  going 
to  marry  Peter?" 

Margot:  "I  have  never  told  him  I  would." 

The  Lady  {very  slowly) :  "Remember,  my  life 
is  bound  up  in  your  answer.     ,     .     ." 

Her  words  seemed  to  burn  and  I  felt  a  kind  of 
pity  for  her.  She  was  leaning  foi'ward  with  her 
eyes  fastened  on  mine  and  her  hands  clasped  be- 
tween her  knees.  -^ 

"If  you  don't  love  him  enough  to  marry  him, 
why  don't  you  leave  him  alone?"  she  said.  "Why 
do  you  keep  him  bound  to  you?  Why  don't  you 
set  him  free?" 

Margot:  "He  is  free  to  love  whom  he  likes;  I 
don't  keep  him,  but  I  won't  share  him."  ^ 

The  Lady:  "You  don't  love  him,  but  you  want* 
to  keep  him;  that  is  pure  selfishness  and  vanity." 

Margot:  "Not  at  all!     I  would  give  him  up 
to-morrow  and  have  told  him  so  a  thousand  times,  ^ 
[186] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

if  he  would  marry;  but  he  is  not  in  a  position  to 
marry  any  one." 

The  Lady:  "How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  I 
His  debts  have  just  been  paid  by  God  knows  who — 
some  woman,  I  suppose! — and  you  are  rich  your- 
self. What  is  there  to  hinder  you  from  marrying 
him?" 

Margot:  "That  was  not  what  I  was  thinking 
about.  I  don't  believe  you  would  understand  even 
if  I  were  to  explain  it  to  you." 

The  Lady  :  "If  you  were  really  in  love  you  could 
not  be  so  critical  and  censorious." 

Margot:  "Oh,  yes,  I  could!    You  don't  know 


i 


The  Lady:  "I  love  him  in  a  way  you  would 
never  understand.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
I  would  not  do  for  him!  No  pain  I  would  not 
suffer  and  no  sacrifice  I  would  not  make." 

Margot:  "What  could  you  do  for  him  that 
would  help  him?" 

The  Lady:  "I  would  leave  my  husband  and  my 
children  and  go  right  away  with  him." 

I  felt  as  if  she  had  stabbed  me. 

"Leave  your  children!  and  your  husband!"  I 
said.     "But  how  can  ruining  them  and  yourself 

[187] 


\ 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

help  Peter  Flower?    I  don't  believe  for  a  moment 
he  would  ever  do  anything  so  vile." 

The  I  ady:  "You  think  he  loves  you  too  much 
to  run  away  with  me,  do  you?" 

Margot  (with  indignation) :  "Perhaps  I  hope 
he  cares  too  much  for  you/' 

The  Lady  (not  listening  and  getting  up  ex- 
citedly) :  "What  do  you  know  about  love?    I  have 
had  a  hundred  lovers,  but  Peter  Flower  is  the  only 
man  I  have  ever  really  cared  for;  and  my  life  isj 
at  an  end  if  you  will  not  give  him  up."  c^ 

Margot:  "There  is  no  question  of  my  giving  him 
up ;  he  is  free,  I  tell  you.  .  .  ." 

The  Lady:  "I  tell  you  he  is  not!  He  doesn't 
consider  himself  free,  he  said  as  much  to  me  this 
afternoon  .  .  .  when  he  wanted  to  break  it  all  off." 

Margot:  "What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  then? . .  •" 

The  Lady:  "Tell  Peter  you  don't  love  him  in 
the  right  way,  that  you  don't  intend  to  marry  him; 
and  then  leave  him  alone." 

Margot:  "Do  you  mean  I  am  to  leave  him 
you?  .  .  .  Do  you  love  him  in  the  right  way?" 

The  Lady:  "Don't  ask  stupid  questions.  .  . 
shall  kill  myself  if  he  gives  me  up." 

After  this,  I  felt  there  was  nothing  more  to  b 
[188] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

said.  I  told  her  that  Peter  had  a  perfect  right  to 
do  what  he  liked  and  that  I  had  neither  the  will  nor 
the  power  to  influence  his  decision ;  that  I  was  going 
abroad  with  my  sister  Lucy  to  Italy  and  would  in 
any  case  not  see  him  for  several  weeks ;  but  I  added 
that  all  my  influence  over  him  for  years  had  been 
directed  into  making  him  the  right  sort  of  man  to 
marry  and  that  all  hers  would  of  necessity  lie  in  the 
opposite  direction.  Not  knowing  quite  how  to  say 
good-bye,  I  began  to  finger  my  cloak;  seeing  my 
intention,  she  said: 

"Just  wait  one  moment,  will  you?  I  want  to 
know  if  you  are  as  good  as  Peter  always  tells  me 
you  are;  don't  answer  till  I  see  your  eyes.  .  .  ." 

She  took  two  candles  off  the  chimneypiece  and 
placed  them  on  the  table  near  me,  a  little  in  front 
of  my  face,  and  then  knelt  upon  the  ground;  I 
looked  at  her  wonderful  wild  eyes  and  stretched  out 
my  hands  towards  her. 

"Nonsense !"  I  said.  "I  am  not  in  the  least  good  I 
Get  up!  When  I  see  you  kneeling  at  my  feet,  I 
feel  sorry  for  you." 

The  Lady  (getting  up  abruptly/) :  "For  God's 
sake  don't  pity  me!" 

•  •••••• 

[189] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Thinking  over  the  situation  in  the  calm  of  my 
room,  I  had  no  qualms  as  to  either  the  elopement 
or  the  suicide,  but  I  felt  a  revulsion  of  feeling  to- 
wards Peter.  His  lack  of  moral  indignation  and 
purpose,  his  intractability  in  all  that  was  serious 
and  his  incapacity  to  improve  had  been  cutting  a 
deep  though  unconscious  division  between  us  for 
years;  and  I  determined  at  whatever  cost,  after 
this,  that  I  would  say  good-bye  to  him. 

A  few  days  later.  Lord  Dufferin  came  to  see 
me  in  Grosvenor  Square. 

"Margot,"  he  said,  "why  don't  you  marry?  You 
are  twenty-seven;  and  life  won't  go  on  treating 
you  so  well  if  you  go  on  treating  it  like  this.  As 
an  old  friend  who  loves  you,  let  me  give  you  one 
word  of  advice.  You  should  marry  in  spite  of  being 
in  love,  but  never  because  of  it." 

Before  I  went  away  to  Italy,  Peter  and  I,  with 
passion-lit  eyes  and  throbbing  hearts,  had  said  good- 
bye to  each  other  for  ever. 

The  relief  of  our  friends  at  our  parting  was  so 
suffocating  that  I  clung  to  the  shelter  of  my  new 
friend,  the  stranger  of  that  House  of  Commons 
dinner. 


[190] 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  ASQUITH  FAMILY  TREE — HERBERT  H.  ASQUITH's 
MOTHER — ^ASQUITH's  FIRST  MARRIAGE;  MEETS 
MARGOT  TENNANT  FOR  FIRST  TIME — ^TALK  TILL 
DAWN  ON  HOUSE  OF  COMMONS*  TERRACE ;  OTHER 

MEETINGS ^ENGAGEMENT  A  LONDON  SENSATION 

MARRIAGE  AN  EVENT 

MY  husband's  father  was  Joseph  Dixon 
Asquith,  a  cloth-merchant,  in  Morley,  at  that 
time  a  small  town  outside  Leeds,  He  was  a  man  of 
high  character  who  held  Bible  classes  for  young 
men.  He  married  a  daughter  of  William  Willans, 
of  Huddersfield,  who  sprang  of  an  old  Yorkshire 
Puritan  stock. 

He  died  when  he  was  thirty-five,  leaving  four 
children :  William  Willans,  Herbert  Henry,  Emily 
Evelyn  and  Lilian  Josephine.  They  were  brought 
up  by  their  mother,  who  was  a  woman  of  genius. 
I  named  my  only  daughter*  after  Goethe's  mother, 
but  was  glad  when  I  found  out  that  her  grand- 
mother Willans  had  been  called  Ehzabeth. 

*Princess  Bibesco. 

[191] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

William  Willans — ^who  is  dead — was  the  eldest 
of  the  family  and  a  clever  little  man.  He  taught  a^ 
Clifton  College  for  over  thirty  years. 

Lilian  Josephine  died  when  she  was  a  baby;  and 
Evelyn — one  of  the  best  of  women — is  the  onlji 
near  relation  of  my  husband  still  living.  1 

My  husband's  mother,  old  Mrs.  Asquith,  I  never 
knew;  my  friend  Mark  Napier  told  me  that  she  wai 
a  brilliantly  clever  woman  but  an  invalid.  She  hac 
delicate  lungs,  which  obliged  her  to  live  on  the 
South  coast;  and,  when  her  two  sons  went  to  the 
City  of  London  School,  they  lived  alone  together 
in  lodgings  in  IsHngton  and  were  both  poor  and  in- 
dustrious. 

Although  Henry's  mother  was  an  invalid  she  had 
a  moral,  religious  and  intellectual  influence  over  her 
family  that  cannot  be  exaggerated.  She  was  a 
profound  reader  and  a  brilliant  talker  and  belonged 
to  what  was  in  those  days  called  orthodox  noncon- 
formity, or  Congregationalists. 

After  my  husband's  first  marriage  he  made 
money  by  writing,  lecturing  and  examining  at  Ox- 
ford. When  he  was  called  to  the  Bar  success  did 
not  come  to  him  at  once. 

He  had  no  rich  patron  and  no  one  to  push  him 
[192] 


lEBBERT  HENRY  ASQUITH  AS  HE  WAS  WHEIf  HE  RESIOXED  THE 
•BEMIERSHIP  TO  LLOYD-GEORGE   DURING   THE   WAR 


RAYMOND  ASQUITH,   SON   OF 
HERBERT  HENRY   ASQUITH  BY 
HIS  FIRST  MARRIAGE.     HE 
WAS  KILLED   IN   BELGIUM 
DURING  THE  WAR 


1 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

forward.  He  had  made  for  himself  a  great  Oxford 
reputation:  he  was  a  fine  scholar  and  lawyer,  but 
socially  was  not  known  by  many  people. 

It  was  said  that  Gladstone  only  promoted  men 
by  seniority  and  never  before  knowing  with  pre- 
cision what  they  were  like,  but  in  my  husband's 
case  it  was  not  so. 

Lord  James  of  Hereford,  then  Sir  Henry  James, 
was  Attorney  General,  overburdened  with  a  large 
private  practice  at  the  Bar;  and,  when  the  great 
Bradlaugh  case  came  on,  in  1883,  it  was  suggested 
to  him  that  a  young  man  living  on  the  same  stair- 
case might  devil  the  Affirmation  Bill  for  him.  This 
was  the  beginning  of  Asquith's  career.  When  Glad- 
stone saw  the  brief  for  his  speech,  he  noted  the  fine 
handwriting  and  asked  who  had  written  it.  Sir 
Henry  James,  the  kindest  and  most  generous  of 
men,  was  delighted  at  Gladstone's  observation  and 
brought  the  young  man  to  him.  From  that  mo- 
ment both  the  Attorney  General  and  the  Prime 
Minister  marked  him  out  for  distinction;  he  rose 
without  any  intermediary  step  of  an  under-secre- 
taryship  from  a  back-bencher  to  a  Cabinet  Minister; 
and  when  we  married  in  1894  he  was  Home  Secre- 
tary.   In  1890  I  cut  and  kept  out  of  some  news- 

[193] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

papers  this  prophecy,  little  thinking  that  I  would 
marry  one  of  the  "New  English  Party." 

A  New  English  Party  1 

Amid  all  the  worry  and  turmoil  and  ambition  of 
Irish  politics,  there  is  steadily  growing  up  a  little 
English  party,  of  which  more  will  be  heard  in  the 
days  that  are  to  come.  This  is  a  band  of  philosoph- 
ico-social  Radicals — ^not  the  old  type  of  laissez- 
faire  politician,  but  quite  otherwise.  In  other 
words,  what  I  may  call  practical  Socialism  has 
caught  on  afresh  with  a  knot  of  clever,  youngish 
members  of  Parliament  who  sit  below  the  gangway 
on  the  Radical  side.  This  little  group  includes 
clever,  learned,  metaphysical  Mr.  Haldane,  one  ofi 
the  rising  lawyers  of  his  day;  young  Sir  Edward 
Grey,  sincere,  enthusiastic,  with  a  certain  gift  for 
oratory,  and  helped  by  a  beautiful  and  clever  wife; 
Mr.  Sidney  Buxton,  who  has  perhaps  the  most  dis- 
tinct genius  for  practical  work ;  and  finally,  thoughj 
in  rather  loose  attachment  to  the  rest,  Mr.  Asquith,! 
brilliant,  cynical,  cold,  clear,  but  with  his  eye  on  the 
future.  The  dominant  ideas  of  this  little  band  tend 
in  the  direction  of  moderate  Collectivism — i.e.,  of| 
municipal  Socialism. 

I  met  my  husband  for  the  first  time  in  1891,  at 
a  dinner  given  by  Peter  Flower's  brother  Cyril.*  I 
had  never  heard  of  him  in  my  life,  which  gives  some, 
indication  of  how  I  was  wasting  my  time  on  twoj 

*The  late  Lord  Battersea.  , 

[194] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

worlds:  I  do  not  mean  this  and  the  next,  but  the 
sporting  and  dramatic.  Melton  in  the  winter  and  the 
Lyceum  in  the  summer.  My  Coquelin  coachings 
and  my  dancing-lessons  had  led  me  to  rehearsals 
both  of  the  ballet  and  the  drama;  and  for  a  short 
time  I  was  at  the  feet  of  Ellen  Terry  and  Irving. 
I  say  "short"  advisedly,  for  then  as  now  I  found 
Bohemian  society  duller  than  any  English  water- 
ing-place. Every  one  has  a  different  conception 
of  Hell  and  few  of  us  connect  it  with  flames;  but 
stage  suppers  are  my  idea  of  Hell  and,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Irving  and  Coquelin,  Ellen  Terry  and 
Sarah  Bernhardt,  I  have  never  met  the  hero  or 
heroine  off  the  stage  that  was  not  ultimately  dull. 
The  dinner  where  I  was  introduced  to  Henry  was 
in  the  House  of  Commons  and  I  sat  next  to  him.  I 
was  tremendously  impressed  by  his  conversation 
and  his  clean  Cromwellian  face.  He  was  different 
from  the  others  and,  although  abominably  dressed, 
had  so  much  personality  that  I  made  up  my  mind 
at  once  that  here  was  a  man  who  could  help  me  and 
would  understand  everything.  It  never  crossed 
my  brain  that  he  was  married,  nor  would  that  have 
'mattered;  I  had  always  been  more  anxious  that 
I  Peter  Flower  should  marry  than  myself,  because 

[195] 


I 


1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

he  was  thirteen  years  older  than  I  was,  but  matri- 
mony was  not  the  austere  purpose  of  either  of  our 
lives. 

After  dinner  we  all  walked  on  the  Terrace  and  I 
was  flattered  to  find  my  new  friend  by  my  side. 
Lord  Battersea  chaffed  me  in  his  noisy,  flamboy- 
ant manner,  trying  to  separate  us;  but  with  tact 
and  determination  this  frontal  attack  was  resisted 
and  my  new  friend  and  I  retired  to  the  darkest  part 
of  the  Terrace,  where,  leaning  over  the  parapet,  we 
gazed  into  the  river  and  talked  far  into  the  night. 

Our  host  and  his  party — thinking  that  I  had  gone 
home  and  that  Mr.  Asquith  had  returned  to  the 
House  when  the  division  bell  rang — ^had  disap- 
peared ;  and  when  we  finished  our  conversation  the 
Terrace  was  deserted  and  the  sky  light. 

We  met  a  few  days  later  dining  with  Sir  Alger- 
non West — a  very  dear  and  early  friend  of  mine — 
and  after  this  we  saw  each  other  constantly.  I 
found  out  from  something  he  said  to  me  that  he  was 
married  and  lived  at  Hampstead  and  that  his  days 
were  divided  between  1  Paper  Buildings  and  the 
House  of  Commons.  He  told  me  that  he  had  al- 
ways been  a  shy  man  and  in  some  ways  this  is  true 
of  him  even  now;  but  I  am  glad  that  I  did  not 
[196] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

observe  it  at  the  time,  as  shy  people  disconcerted 
me:  I  liked  modesty,  I  pitied  timidity,  but  I  was 
embarrassed  by  shyness. 

I  cannot  truly  say,  however,  that  the  word  shy 
described  my  husband  at  any  time:  he  was  a  little 
gauche  in  movement  and  blushed  when  he  was 
praised,  but  I  have  never  seen  him  nervous  with 
any  one  or  embarrassed  by  any  social  dilemma.  His 
unerring  instinct  into  all  sorts  of  people  and  affairs 
— quite  apart  from  his  intellectual  temperament 
and  learning — and  his  incredible  lack  of  vanity 
struck  me  at  once.  The  art  of  making  every  man 
better  pleased  with  himself  he  had  in  a  high  degree ; 
and  he  retains  to  this  day  an  incurable  modesty. 

When  I  discovered  that  he  was  married,  I  asked 
him  to  bring  his  wife  to  dinner,  which  he  did,  and 
directy  I  saw  her  I  said: 

"I  do  hope,  Mrs.  Asquith,  you  have  not  minded 
your  husband  dining  here  without  you,  but  I  rather 
gathered  Hamp  stead  was  too  far  away  for  him  to 
get  back  to  you  from  the  House  of  Commons.  You 
must  always  let  me  know  and  come  with  him  when- 
ever it  suits  you." 

•  •••••• 

In  making  this  profound  and  attaching  friend- 

[197] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

ship  with  the  stranger  of  that  House  of  Commons 
dinner,  I  had  placed  myself  in  a  difficult  position 
when  Helen  Asquith  died.  To  be  a  stepwife  and 
a  stepmother  was  unthinkable,  but  at  the  same  time 
the  moment  had  arrived  when  a  decision — involving 
a  great  change  in  my  life — had  become  inevitable. 
I  had  written  to  Peter  Flower  before  we  parted 
every  day  for  nine  years — with  the  exception  of  the 
months  he  had  spent  flying  from  his  creditors  in 
India — and  I  had  prayed  for  him  every  night,  but 
it  had  not  brought  more  than  happiness  to  both  of 
us;  and  when  I  deliberately  said  good-bye  to  him 
I  shut  down  a  page  of  my  life  which,  even  if  I  had 
wished  to,  I  could  never  have  reopened.  When 
Henry  told  me  he  cared  for  me,  that  unstifled  inner 
voice  which  we  all  of  us  hear  more  or  less  indis- 
tinctly told  me  I  would  be  untrue  to  myself  and 
quite  unworthy  of  life  if,  when  such  a  man  came 
knocking  at  the  door,  I  did  not  fling  it  wide  open. 
The  rumour  that  we  were  engaged  to  be  married 
caused  alarm  amounting  to  consternation  in  certain 
circles.  Both  Lord  Rosebery  and  Lord  Randolph 
Churchill,  without  impugning  me  in  any  way,  de- 
plored the  marriage,  nor  were  they  by  any  means 
alone  in  thinking  such  a  union  might  ruin  the  life 
[198] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

of  a  promising  politician.  Some  of  my  own  friends 
were  equally  apprehensive  from  another  point  of 
view;  to  start  my  new  life  charged  with  a  ready- 
made  family  of  children  brought  up  very  diiFerent- 
ly  from  myself,  with  a  man  who  played  no  games 
and  cared  for  no  sport,  in  London  instead  of  in  the 
country,  with  no  money  except  what  he  could  make 
at  the  Bar,  was,  they  thought,  taking  too  many 
risks. 

My  Melton  friends  said  it  was  a  terrible  waste 
that  I  was  not  marrying  a  sporting  man  and  told 
me  afterwards  that  they  nearly  signed  a  round- 
robin  to  implore  me  never  to  give  up  hunting,  but 
feared  I  might  think  it  impertinent. 

The  rumour  of  my  engagement  caused  a  sensa- 
tion in  the  East-end  of  London  as  well  as  the  West. 
The  following  was  posted  to  me  by  an  anonymous 
well-wisher: 

At  the  meeting  of  the  "unemployed"  held  on 
Tower  Hill  yesterday  afternoon,  John  E.  Williams, 
the  organiser  appointed  by  the  Social  Democratic 
Federation,  said  that  on  the  previous  day  they  had 
gone  through  the  West-end  squares  and  had  let 
the  "loafers"  living  there  know  that  they  were  alive. 
On  the  previous  evening  he  had  seen  an  announce- 
ment which,  at  first  sight,  had  caused  tears  to  run 

[199] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


I 


down  his  face,  for  he  had  thought  it  read,  "Mr. 
Asquith  going  to  be  murdered/'  However,  it 
turned  out  that  Mr.  Asquith  was  going  to  be  mar- 
ried, and  he  accordingly  proposed  that  the  unem- 
ployed, following  the  example  of  the  people  in  the 
West-end,  should  forward  the  right  hon.  gentle- 
man a  congratulatory  message.  He  moved:  "That 
this  mass  meeting  of  the  unemployed  held  on  Tower 
Hill,  hearing  that  Mr.  Asquith  is  about  to  enter  the 
holy  bonds  of  matrimony,  and  knowing  he  has  no 
sympathy  for  the  unemployed,  and  that  he  has 
lately  used  his  position  in  the  House  of  Commons 
to  insult  the  unemployed,  trusts  that  his  partner 
will  be  one  of  the  worst  tartars  it  is  possible  for  a 
man  to  have,  and  that  his  family  troubles  will  com- 
pel him  to  retire  from  political  life,  for  which  he  is 
so  unfit."  The  reading  of  the  resolution  was  fol- 
lowed by  loud  laughter  and  cheers.  Mr.  Crouch 
(National  Union  of  Boot  and  Shoe  Operatives) 
seconded  the  motion,  which  was  supported  by  a 
large  number  of  other  speakers  and  adopted. 

I  was  much  more  afraid  of  spoiling  Henry's  life 
than  my  own,  and  what  with  old  ties  and  bothers, 
and  new  ties  and  stepchildren,  I  deliberated  a  long 
time  before  the  final  fixing  of  my  wedding-day. 

I  had  never  met  any  of  his  children  except  little 

Violet  when  I  became  engaged  and  he  only  took 

me  to  see  them  once  before  we  were  married,  as 

they  lived  in  a  villa  at  Redhill  under  the  charge  of  a 

[200] 


Mr.  Asqxiith  and  His  Fiancee* 

Rartly  has  any  social  event,  says  a  despatch 
by  the  Herald's  Special  Wire,  created  «ncli 
tvidespread  interest  aa 
the  announcement  of 
the  engagement  of 
Mr.  Asqnith  to  Miss 
Margot  Tennant,  and 
congratulations  are 
general  and  sincere. 
Probably  no  young 
unmarried  woman  has 
ever  before  won  fori 
herself  so  remarkable 
a  position  as  Miss 
Tennant  has  won  in 
the  heart  of  an  unu- 
sitally  brilliant  and 
competitive  society^ 
The  circle  in  which 
she  has  been  a  lead* 
ing  spirit  has  been  a 
subject  of  specula- 
tion) envy  and  misunderstanding,  under 
their  ridiculous  name  of  "  Souls,"  for  some  years 
past,  but  if  they  have  not  escaped  from  the 
unfortunate  and  inevitable  disadvantage  of  a 
clique,  they  have  at  the  same  time  quickened 
and  stimulated  a  genuine  if  somewhat  dilettante 
interest  in  things  of  mind  as  opposed  to  the 
ordiaary  frivolous  interests  of  the  iiour,  and  for 
this  they  will  be  and  deserve  to  be  remembered. 


THE  FlAVCt, 


AJINOUNOEMENT  IN  "THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD"  FEBRUARY  1894 
OF  THE  ENGAGEMENT  OF  MABGOT  TENNANT  AND  HERBERT 
HENRY  ASQUITH 


[201] 


4 


A 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

kind  and  careful  governess;  he  never  spoke  of 
them  except  one  day  when,  after  my  asking  him  if 
he  thought  they  would  hate  me  and  cataloguing  my 
grave  imperfections  and  moderate  qualifications  for 
the  part,  he  stopped  me  and  said  that  his  eldest  son, 
Raymond,  was  remarkably  clever  and  would  be 
devoted  to  me,  adding  thoughtfully: 
"I  think — and  hope — ^he  is  ambitious." 
This  was  a  new  idea  to  me :  we  had  always  been 
told  what  a  wicked  thing  ambition  was ;  but  we  were 
a  fighting  family  of  high  spirits  and  not  temper, 
so  we  had  acquiesced,  without  conforming  to  the 
nursery  dictum.  The  remark  profoundly  im- 
pressed me  and  I  pondered  it  over  in  my  heart.  I 
do  not  think,  by  the  way,  that  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
true  prophecy,  but  Raymond  Asquith  had  such  un- 
usual intellectual  gifts  that  no  one  could  have  con- 
victed him  of  lack  of  ambition.  To  win  without 
work,  to  score  without  an  effort  and  to  delight  with- 
out premeditation  is  given  to  few. 

One  night  after  our  engagement  we  were  dining 
with  Sir  Henry  and  Lady  Campbell-Banncrman. 
While  the  women  were  talking  and  the  men  drink- 
ing, dear  old  Mrs.  Gladstone  and  other  elderly 
ladies  and  political  wives  took  me  on  as  to  the  duties 

[203] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


1 


of  the  spouse  of  a  possible  Prime  Minister;  they 
were  so  eloquent  and  severe  that  at  the  end  of  it 
my  nerves  were  racing  round  like  a  squirrel  in  a 
cage. 

When  Mr.  Gladstone  came  into  the  drawing- 
room  I  felt  depressed  and,  clinging  to  his  arm,  I 
switched  him  into  a  corner  and  said  I  feared  the 
ladies  took  me  for  a  jockey  or  a  ballet-girl,  as  I  had 
been  adjured  to  give  up,  among  other  things,  danc- 
ing, riding  and  acting.  He  patted  my  hand,  said 
he  knew  no  one  better  fitted  to  be  the  wife  of  a  great 
politician  than  myself  and  ended  by  saying  that, 
while  I  was  entitled  to  discard  exaggeration  in  re- 
buke, it  was  a  great  mistake  not  to  take  criticism 
wisely  and  in  a  spirit  which  might  turn  it  to  good 
account. 

I  have  often  thought  of  this  when  I  see  how 
y       brittle  and  egotistical  people  are  at  the  smallest  dis- 
approbation.   I  never  get  over  my  surprise,  old  as 
I  am,  at  the  surly  moral  manners,  the  lack  of 
humbleness  and  the  colossal  personal  vanity  that 
are  the  bed-rock  of  people's  incapacity  to  take  criti- 
cism well.    There  is  no  greater  test  of  size  than  this; 
but,  judged  by  this  test,  most  of  us  are  dwarfs. 
•  •••••• 

[204]  ,M 


AlSr  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Disapproving  of  long  engagements  and  wishing 
to  escape  the  cataract  of  advice  by  which  my  friends 
thought  to  secure  both  my  husband's  and  my  own 
matrimonial  bliss,  I  hurried  on  my  marriage.  My 
friends  and  advisers  made  me  unhappy  at  this  time, 
but  fortunately  for  me  Henry  Asquith  is  a  compel- 
ling person  and,  in  spite  of  the  anxiety  of  the 
friends  and  relations,  we  were  married  at  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  on  May  the  10th,  1894. 
I  doubt  if  any  bride  ever  received  so  many  strange 
letters  as  I  did.  There  was  one  which  I  kept  in 
front  of  me  when  I  felt  discouraged.  I  shall  net 
say  who  it  is  from,  as  the  writer  is  alive: 

My  dear  Margot, 

You  are  not  different  to  other  people  except  in 
this  respect — you  have  a  clear,  cold  head,  and  a  hot, 
keen  heart,  and  you  won't  find  everything;  so 
choose  what  lasts,  and  with  luck  and  with  pluck, 
marrying  as  you  are  from  the  highest  motives,  you 
will  be  repaid.  Asquith  is  far  too  good  for  you. 
He  is  not  conventional,  and  will  give  you  a  great 
deal  of  freedom.  He  worships  you,  and  under- 
stands you,  and  is  bent  on  making  the  best  of  you 
and  the  life  together.  You  are  marrying  a  very 
uncommon  man — not  so  much  intellectually — ^but 
he  is  uncommon  from  his  Determination,  Reality 
and  concentrated  power  of  love.  Don't  pity  your- 
self— you  would  not  wish  to  have  loved  Peter  less — 

[205] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


4 


though  you  might  wish  you  had  never  seen  him 
but  you  must  know  you  have  allowed  too  much  love 
in  your  life,  and  must  bear  the  consequences.  Deep  j 
down  in  your  heart  you  must  feel  that  you  ought  I 
to  put  a  stop  to  your  present  life,  and  to  the  tempta- 
tion of  making  people  love  you.  Depend  upon  it 
with  your  rich  and  warm  nature  you  need  not  be 
afraid  of  not  loving  Asquith  intensely.  By  marry- 
ing him  you  wili  prove  yourself  to  be  a  woman  of 
courage  and  nobility,  instead  of  a  woman  who  is 
talked  about  and  who  is  in  reality  self-indulgent. 
You  are  lucky  after  your  rather  dangerous  life  to 
have  found  such  a  haven  and  should  bless  God 
for  it. 

In  those  days  it  was  less  common  for  people  to 
collect  in  the  streets  to  see  a  wedding.  The  first 
marriage  I  ever  saw  which  collected  a  crowd  was 
Lady  Crewe's,  but  her  father,  Lord  Rosebery,  was 
a  Derby  winner  and  Prime  Minister  and  she  was 
married  in  Westminster  Abbey.  From  Grosvenor 
Square  to  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square,  is  a  short 
distance,  but  from  our  front  door  to  the  church  the 
pavements  were  blocked  with  excited  and  enthus- 
iastic people. 

An  old  nurse  of  my  sister  Charlotte's,  Jerusha 

Taylor,   told   me   that   a   gentleman   outside   St. 

George's  had  said  to  her,  "I  will  give  you  «£10  for 

that  ticket  of  yours!"  and  when  she  refused  he  said, 

[206] 

i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"I  will  give  you  anything  you  like!  I  must  see 
Margot  Tennant  married!"  I  asked  her  what  sort 
of  a  man  he  was.     She  answered, 

"Oh!  he  was  a  real  gentleman,  ma'am!  I  know 
a  gentleman  when  I  see  him ;  he  had  a  gardenia  in 
his  buttonhole,  but  he  didn't  get  my  ticket!" 

Our  register  was  signed  by  four  Prime  Ministers : 
Mr.  Gladstone,  Lord  Rosebery,  Arthur  Balfour 
and  my  husband.  We  spent  the  first  part  of  our 
honeymoon  at  Mells  Park,  Frome,  lent  to  us  by  Sir 
John  and  Lady  Horner,  and  the  second  at  Clovelly 
Court  with  our  friend  and  hostess,  Mrs.  Hamlyn. 


[207] 


CHAPTER  VI 


*i 


THE  ASQUITH  CHILDREN  BY  THE  FIRST  MARRIAGE — 

MARGOT's  STEPDAUGHTER  YIOLET MEMORY  OF 

THE    FIRST    MRS.    ASQUITH — RAYMOND'S    BRIL- 
LIANT  CAREER — ^Arthur's   heroism   in   the 

WAR 

T  DO  not  think  if  you  had  ransacked  the  world 
-*■  you  could  have  found  natures  so  opposite  in 
temper,  temperament  and  outlook  as  myself  and  my 
stepchildren  when  I  first  knew  them. 

If  there  was  a  difference  between  the  Teimants 
and  Lytteltons  of  laughter,  there  was  a  difference 
between  the  Tennants  and  Asquiths  of  tears.  Ten- 
nants  believed  in  appealing  to  the  hearts  of  men, 
firing  their  imagination  and  penetrating  and  vivify- 
ing their  inmost  lives.  They  had  a  little  loose  love 
to  give  the  whole  world.  The  Asquiths — without 
mental  flurry  and  with  perfect  self-mastery — ^be- 
lieved in  the  free  application  of  intellect  to  every 
human  emotion;  no  event  could  have  given  height- 
ened expression  to  their  feelings.  Shy,  self -en- 
gaged, critical  and  controversial,  nothing  surprised 
[208] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

them  and  nothing  upset  them.  We  were  as  zealous 
and  vital  as  they  were  detached  and  as  cocky  and 
passionate  as  they  were  modest  and  emotionless. 

They  rarely  looked  at  you  and  never  got  up  when 
any  one  came  into  the  room.  If  you  had  appeared 
downstairs  in  a  ball-dress  or  a  bathing-gown  they 
would  not  have  observed  it  and  would  certainly 
never  have  conmiented  upon  it  if  they  had. 
Whether  they  were  glowing  with  joy  at  the  sight 
of  you  or  thrilled  at  receiving  a  friend,  their  wel- 
come was  equally  composed.  They  were  devoted 
to  one  another  and  never  quarrelled ;  they  were  sel- 
dom wild  and  never  naughty.  Perfectly  self-con- 
tained, truthful  and  deliberate,  I  never  saw  them 
lose  themselves  in  my  life  and  I  have  hardly  ever 
seen  the  saint  or  hero  that  excited  their  disinterested 
emotion. 

When  I  thought  of  the  storms  of  revolt,  the  rage, 
the  despair,  the  wild  enthusiasms  and  reckless  ad- 
ventures, the  disputes  that  finished  not  merely  with 
fights,  but  with  fists  in  our  nursery  and  schoolroom, 

1 1  was  stunned  by  the  steadiness  of  the  Asquith  tem- 

I  per. 

I     Let  it  not  be  inferred  that  I  am  criticising  them 

1  as  they  now  are,  or  that  their  attitude  towards  my- 

[209] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


1 


self  was  at  any  time  lacking  in  sympathy.  Blind- 
ness of  heart  does  not  imply  hardness;  and  expres- 
sion is  a  matter  of  temperament  or  impulse;  but  it 
was  their  attitude  towards  life  that  was  different 
from  my  own.  They  over-valued  brains,  which  was 
a  strange  fault,  as  they  were  all  remarkably  clever. 
Hardly  any  Prime  Minister  has  had  famous  chil- 
dren, but  the  Asquiths  were  all  conspicuous  in  their 
different  ways :  Raymond  and  Violet  the  most  strik- 
ing, Arthur  the  most  capable,  Herbert  a  poet  and 
Cyril  the  shyest  and  the  rarest. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

Cys  Asquith,  who  was  the  youngest  of  the  family, 
combined  what  was  best  in  all  of  them  morally  and! 
intellectually  and  possessed  what  was  finer  than| 

brains.  I 

i 

He  was  two,  when  his  mother  died,  and  a  clumsy 
ugly  little  boy  with  a  certain  amount  of  graceless 
obstinacy,  with  which  both  Tennants  and  Asquiths  | 
were  equally  endowed.  To  the  casual  observer  he  I 
would  have  appeared  less  like  me  than  any  of  my| 
step-family,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  and  I  hadi 
the  most  in  common;  we  shared  a  certain  spiritual! 
foundation  and  moral  aspiration  that  solder  people  | 
together  through  life.  j 

[210] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

It  is  not  because  I  took  charge  of  him  at  an  early 
age  that  I  say  he  is  more  my  own  than  the  others, 
but  because,  although  he  did  not  always  agree  with 
me,  he  never  misunderstood  me.  He  said  at  Miir- 
ren  one  day,  when  he  was  seventeen  and  we  had 
been  talking  together  on  life  and  religion: 

"It  must  be  curious  for  you,  Margot,  seeing  all 
of  us  laughing  at  things  that  make  you  cry." 

This  showed  remarkable  insight  for  a  schoolboy. 
When  I  look  at  his  wonderful  face  now  and  think 
of  his  appearance  at  the  time  of  our  marriage,  I  am 
reminded  of  the  Hans  Andersen  toad  with  the 
jewel  in  its  head,  but  the  toad  is  no  longer  there. 

I  have  a  dear  friend  called  Bogie  Harris,*  who 
told  me  that,  at  a  ball  given  by  Con  and  Hoppy 
Manners,  he  had  seen  a  young  man  whose  face  had 
struck  him  so  much  that  he  looked  about  for  some 
one  in  the  room  to  tell  him  who  it  was.  That  young 
man  was  Cyril  Asquith. 

One  night  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  after  I  had 
heard  him  say  his  prayers  he  asked  me  to  read  the 
General  Confession  out  of  his  Prayer  Book  to  him. 
It  was  such  an  unusual  request  that  I  said: 

"Very  well,  darling,  I  will,  but  first  of  all  I  must 

*Mr.  H.  Harris,  of  Bedford  Square. 

[211] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

read  you   what  I  love  best  in  the  Prayer  Book," 

To  which  he  answered : 

"Oh,  do!    I  should  like  that." 

I  put  a  cushion  behind  my  head  and,  lying  doi 
beside  him,  read: 

"Lighten  our  darkness,  we  beseech  Thee,  0^ 
Lord;  and  by  Thy  great  mercy  defend  us  from  all 
perils  and  dangers  of  this  night,  for  the  love  of 
Thine  only  Son,  our  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.    Amen. 

After  this  I  read  him  the  General  Confession, 
opening,  "We  have  erred  and  strayed  from  Thy, 
ways  like  lost  sheep,"  and  ending,  "that  we  may; 
hereafter  live  a  godly,  righteous,  and  sober  life.'" 
When  I  had  finished  I  said  to  him: 

"What  do  you  take  sober  to  mean  here,  dar- 
ling?" 

Cys  (looking  furtively  at  me  with  his  Utile  green 
eyes) :  "It  does  not  mean  drunkenness."  (A  slight 
pause;  then  reflectively) :  "I  should  say  moderate 
living." 

I  told  the  children  one  day  to  collect  some  of 
their  toys  and  that  I  would  take  them  to  the  hos- 
pital, where  they  could  give  them  away  themselves, 
I  purposely  did  not  say  broken  toys;  and  a  few 
days  afterwards  I  was  invited  to  the  nursery.  On 
[212] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

arriving  upstairs  I  saw  that  Cys's  eyes  were  scarlet; 
and  set  out  in  pathetic  array  round  the  room  was 
a  large  family  of  monkeys  christened  by  him  "the 
Thumblekins."  They  were  what  he  loved  best  in 
the  world.  I  observed  that  they  were  the  only  un- 
'  broken  toys  that  were  brought  to  me;  and  he  was 
eyeing  his  treasures  with  anguish  in  his  soul.  I  was 
so  touched  that  I  could  hardly  speak;  and,  when  I 
put  my  arms  round  his  neck,  he  burst  into  sobs: 

"May  I  keep  one  monkey  .  .  .  only  one,  Mar- 
got? .. .  Please?  . . .  Please,  Margot? .  . ." 

This  was  the  window  in  his  soul  that  has  never 
been  closed  to  me.  For  many  years  during  a  dis- 
tinguished college  career  he  was  delicate,  but  since 
his  marriage  to  Miss  Ann  Pollock — a  daylight  crea- 
ture of  charm,  beauty  and  goodness — ^he  has  been 
happy  and  strong. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

My  stepdaughter  Violet — now  Lady  Bonham 
Carter — ^though  intensely  feminine,  would  have 
made  a  remarkable  man.  I  do  not  believe  there  is 
any  examination  she  could  not  have  passed  either  at 
a  public  school  or  a  university.  Born  without  shy- 
ness or  trepidation,  from  her  youth  upwards  she 
had  perfect  self-possession  and  patience.    She  loved 

[213] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


1 


dialectics  and  could  put  her  case  logically,  plausibly 
and  eloquently ;  and,  although  quite  as  unemotional 
as  her  brothers,  she  had  more  enterprise  and  indig- 
nation. In  her  youth  she  was  delicate,  and  what 
the  French  call  trds  personelle;  and  this  prevented 
her  going  through  the  mill  of  rivalry  and  criticism 
which  had  been  the  daily  bread  of  my  girlhood. 

She  had  the  same  penetrating  sense  of  humour 
as  her  brother  Raymond  and  quite  as  much  pres- 
ence of  mind  in  retort.  Her  gift  of  expression  was 
amazing  and  her  memory  unrivalled.  My  daughter 
Elizabeth  and  she  were  the  only  girls  except  myself 
that  I  ever  met  who  were  real  politicians,  not  inter- 
ested merely  in  the  personal  side — whether  Mr.  B. 
or  C.  spoke  well  or  was  likely  to  get  promoted — ^but 
in  the  legislation  and  administration  of  Parliament; 
they  followed  and  knew  what  was  going  on  at  home 
and  abroad  and  enjoyed  friendships  with  most  of 
the  young  and  famous  men  of  the  day.  Violet  Bon- 
ham  Carter  has,  I  think,  a  great  political  future 
in  the  country  if  not  in  the  Commons.  She  is  a  nat- 
ural speaker,  easy,  eloquent,  witty,  short  and  of  im- 
perturbable sang-froid. 

Life  in  the  House  is  neither  healthy,  useful  nor 
appropriate  for  a  woman;  and  the  functions  of  a 
[214] 

1 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

mother  and  a  member  of  Parliament  are  not  com- 
patible. This  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  my  hus- 
band and  I  were  against  giving  the  franchise  to 
women.  Violet  is  a  real  mother  and  feels  the  prob- 
lem acutely,  but  she  is  a  real  Liberal  also  and,  with 
gifts  as  conspicuous  as  hers,  she  must  inevitably  ex- 
ercise a  wide-spread  political  influence.  Her 
speeches  in  her  father's  election  at  Paisley,  in  Feb- 
ruary of  this  year,  brought  her  before  a  general  as 
well  as  intellectual  audience  from  which  she  can 
never  retire;  and,  whenever  she  appears  on  a  plat- 
form, the  public  shout  from  every  part  of  the  hall 
calling  on  her  to  speak. 

t*  •  •  •  •  •  • 

aymond  Asquith  was  born  on  the  6th  of  No- 
ber,  1878,  and  was  killed  fighting  against  the 
Germans  before  his  regiment  had  been  in  action  ten 
minutes,  on  the  15th  of  September,  1916. 

He  was  intellectually  one  of  the  most  distin- 
guished young  men  of  his  day  and  beautiful  to  look 
at,  added  to  which  he  was  light  in  hand,  brilHant  in 
answer  and  interested  in  affairs.  When  he  went  to 
BalHol  he  cultivated  a  kind  of  cynicism  which  was 
an  endless  source  of  delight  to  the  young  people 
around  him;  in  a  good-humoured  way  he  made  a 

[215] 


1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

butt  of  God  and  smiled  at  man.  If  he  had  been 
really  keen  about  any  one  thing — law  or  literature 
— ^he  would  have  made  the  world  ring  with  his  name, 
but  he  lacked  temperament  and  a  certain  sort  of 
imagination  and  was  without  ambition  of  any  kind. 

His  education  was  started  by  a  woman  in  a  day- 
school  at  Hampstead;  from  there  he  took  a  Win- 
chester scholarship  and  he  became  a  scholar  of 
Balliol.    At  Oxford  he  went  from  triumph  to  tri- 
umph.   He  took  a  first  in  classical  moderations  in 
1899;  first-class  literce  humaniores  in  1901;  first- 
class  jurisprudence  in  1902.    He  won  the  Craven, 
Ireland,  Derby  and  Eldon  scholarships.    He  was  : 
President  of  the  Union  and  became  a  Fellow  of  All  j 
Souls  in  1902;  and  after  he  left  Oxford  he  was  I 
called  to  the  Bar  in  1904.  | 

In  spite  of  this  record,  a  more  modest  fellow  | 
about  his  own  achievements  never  lived.  ' 

Raymond  was  charming  and  good-tempered  from  ! 
his  boyhood  and  I  only  remember  him  once  in  his  \ 
life  getting  angry  with  me.  He  had  been  urged  ! 
to  go  into  politics  by  both  his  wife  and  his  father 
and  had  been  invited  by  the  Liberal  Association  i 
of  a  northern  town  to  become  their  candidate.  He  ! 
was  complaining  about  it  one  day  to  me,  saying  | 
[216]  i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

how  dull,  how  stupid,  how  boring  the  average  con- 
stituents of  all  electorates  were;  I  told  him  I 
thought  a  closer  contact  with  common  people  would 
turn  out  not  only  more  interesting  and  delightful 
than  he  imagined,  but  that  it  would  be  the  making 
of  him.  He  flared  up  at  once  and  made  me  appear 
infinitely  ridiculous,  but  being  on  sure  ground  I 
listened  with  amusement  and  indifference;  the  dis- 
cussion ended  amicably,  neither  of  us  having  de- 
viated by  a  hair's  breath  from  our  original  posi- 
tions. He  and  I  seldom  got  on  each  other's  nerves, 
though  two  more  different  beings  never  lived.  His 
•ctic  analysis  of  what  he  looked  upon  as  "cant" 
[ways  stirred  his  listeners  to  a  high  pitch  of  en- 
lusiasm. 

One  day  when  he  was  at  home  for  his  holidays 

id  we  were  all  having  tea  together,  to  amuse  the 

lildren  I  began  asking  riddles.    I  told  them  that  I 

lad  only  guessed  one  in  my  life,  but  it  had  taken 

me  three  days.    They  asked  me  what  it  was,  and  I 

said: 

"What  is  it  that  God  has  never  seen,  that  kings 
see  seldom  and  that  we  see  every  day?" 
Raymond  instantly  answered: 
"A  joke," 

[217] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH  ^^ 

I  felt  that  the  real  answer,  which  was  "an  equal," 
was  very  tepid  after  this. 

In  1907  he  married,  from  10  Downing  Street, 
Katherine  Horner,  a  beautiful  creature  of  character 
and  intellect,  as  lacking  in  fire  and  incense  as  him- 
self. Their  devotion  to  each  other  and  happiness 
was  a  perpetual  joy  to  me,  as  I  felt  that  in  some 
ways  I  had  contributed  to  it.  Katherine  was  the 
daughter  of  Laura's  greatest  friend,  Frances  Hor- 
ner, and  he  met  her  through  me. 

Raymond  found  in  both  his  mother-in-law  and 
Sir  John  Homer  friends  capable  of  appreciating 
his  fine  flavour.  He  wrote  with  ease  and  brilliance 
both  prose  and  poetry.  I  will  quote  two  of  his 
poems: 

In  Praise  of  Young  Girls 

Attend,  my  Muse,  and,  if  you  can,  approve 
While  I  proclaim  the  "speeding  up"  of  Love; 
For  Love  and  Commerce  hold  a  conmion  creed— 
The  scale  of  business  varies  with  the  speed; 
For  Queen  of  Beauty  or  for  Sausage  King 
The  Customer  is  always  on  the  wing — 
Then  praise  the  nymph  who  regularly  earns 
Small  profits  (if  you  please)  but  quick  returns. 
Our  modish  Venus  is  a  bustling  minx, 
But  who  can  spare  the  time  to  woo  a  Sphinx? 
When  Mona  Lisa  posed  with  rustic  guile 
[218] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

The  stale  enigma  of  her  simple  smile, 
Her  leisure  lovers  raised  a  pious  cheer 
While  the  slow  mischief  crept  from  ear  to  ear. 
Poor  listless  Lombard,  you  would  ne'er  engage 
The  brisker  beaux  of  our  mercurial  age 
Whose  lively  mettle  can  as  easy  brook 
An  epic  poem  as  a  lingering  look — 
Our  modern  maiden  smears  the  twig  with  lime 
For  twice  as  many  hearts  in  half  the  time. 
Long  ere  the  circle  of  that  staid  grimace 
Has  wheeled  your  weary  dimples  into  place. 
Our  little  Chloe  (mark  the  nimble  fiend!) 
Has  raised  a  laugh  against  her  bosom  friend. 
Melted  a  marquis,  mollified  a  Jew, 
Kissed  every  member  of  the  Eton  crew. 
Ogled  a  Bishop,  quizzed  an  aged  peer. 
Has  danced  a  Tango  and  has  dropped  a  tear. 
Fresh  from  the  schoolroom,  pink  and  plump  and  pert. 
Bedizened,  bouncing,  artful  and  alert, 
No  victim  she  of  vapours  and  of  moods 
Though  the  sky  falls  she's  "ready  with  the  goods" — 
Will  suit  each  client,  tickle  every  taste 
Polite  or  gothic,  libertine  or  chaste, 
Supply  a  waspish  tongue,  a  waspish  waist, 
Astarte's  breast  or  Atalanta's  leg. 
Love  ready-made  or  glamour  off  the  peg — 
Do  you  prefer  "a  thing  of  dew  and  air"? 
Or  is  your  type  Poppaea  or  Polaire? 
The  crystal  casket  of  a  maiden's  dreams, 
Or  the  last  fancy  in  cosmetic  creams? 
The  dark  and  tender  or  the  fierce  and  bright, 
Youth's  rosy  blush  or  Passion's  pearly  bite? 
You  hardly  know  perhaps;  but  Chloe  knows, 

[219] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

And  pours  you  out  the  necessary  dose, 
Meticulously  measuring  to  scale, 
The  cup  of  Circe  or  the  Holy  Grail — 
An  actress  she  at  home  in  every  role, 
Can  flout  or  flatter,  bully  or  cajole, 
And  on  occasion  by  a  stretch  of  art 
Can  even  speak  the  language  of  the  heart. 
Can  lisp  and  sigh  and  make  confused  replies, 
With  baby  lips  and  complicated  eyes, 
Indifferently  apt  to  weep  or  wink, 
Primly  pursue,  provocatively  shrink, 
Brazen  or  bashful,  as  the  case  require. 
Coax  the  faint  baron,  curb  the  bold  esquire. 
Deride  restraint,  but  deprecate  desire, 
Unbridled  yet  unloving,  loose  but  limp. 
Voluptuary,  virgin,  prude  and  pimp. 

Lines  to  a  young  Viscount,  who  died  at  Ox-  ; 

FORD,  ON  THE  MORROW  OF  A  BUMP  SuPPER  {by  the    \ 

President  of  his  College)  \ 

! 
Dear  Viscount,  in  whose  ancient  blood  | 

The  blueness  of  the  bird  of  March,  j 

The  vermeil  of  the  tufted  larch,  j 

Are  fused  in  one  magenta  flood.  I 

Dear  Viscount — ah!  to  me  how  dear,  j 

Who  even  in  thy  frolic  mood  | 

Discerned  (or  sometimes  thought  I  could) 

The  pure  proud  purpose  of  a  peer! 

So  on  the  last  sad  night  of  all 
Erect  among  the  reeling  rout 

[220] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

You  beat  your  tangled  music  out 
Lofty,  aloof,  viscontial. 

You  struck  a  bootbath  with  a  can, 

And  with  the  can  you  struck  the  bath, 
There  on  the  yellow  gravel  path. 

As  gentleman  to  gentleman. 

We  met,  we  stood,  we  faced,  we  talked 
While  those  of  baser  birth  withdrew; 
I  told  you  of  an  Earl  I  knew; 

You  said  you  thought  the  wine  was  corked; 

And  so  we  parted — on  my  lips 

A  light  farewell,  but  in  my  soul 
The  image  of  a  perfect  whole, 

A  Viscount  to  the  finger  tips 

An  image — Yes;  but  thou  art  gone; 
For  nature  red  in  tooth  and  claw 
Subsumes  under  an  equal  law 

Viscount  and  Iguanodon. 

Yet  we  who  know  the  Larger  Love, 
Which  separates  the  sheep  and  goats 
And  segregates  Scolecobrots,* 

Believing  where  we  cannot  prove, 

Deem  that  in  His  mysterious  Day 

God  puts  the  Peers  upon  His  right. 
And  hides  the  poor  in  endless  night. 

For  thou,  my  Lord,  art  more  than  they. 

•A  word  from  the  Greek  Testament  meaning  people  who  are  eaten 
by  worms. 

[221] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

It  is  a  commonplace  to  say  after  a  man  is  dead 
that  he  could  have  done  anything  he  liked  in  life: 
it  is  nearly  always  exaggerated;  but  of  Raymond 
Asquith  the  phrase  would  have  been  true. 

His  oldest  friend  was  Harold  Baker,*  a  man 
whose  academic  career  was  as  fine  as  his  own  and 
whose  changeless  affection  and  intimacy  we  have 
long  valued;  but  Raymond  had  many  friends  as 
well  as  admirers.  His  death  was  the  first  great  sor- 
row in  my  stepchildren's  lives  and  an  anguish  to  his 
father  and  me.  The  news  of  it  came  as  a  terrible 
shock  to  every  one.  My  husband's  natural  pride 
and  interest  in  him  had  always  been  intense  and  we 
were  never  tired  of  discussing  him  when  we  were 
alone:  his  personal  charm  and  wit,  his  little  faults 
and  above  all  the  success  which  so  certainly  awaited 
him.  Henry's  grief  darkened  the  waters  in  Down- 
ing Street  at  a  time  when,  had  they  been  clear,  cer- 
tain events  could  never  have  taken  place. 

When  Raymond  was  dying  on  the  battle-field  he 
gave  the  doctor  his  flask  to  give  to  his  father;  it  was 
placed  by  the  side  of  his  bed  and  never  moved  till 
we  left  Whitehall. 

I  had  not  realised  before  how  powerless  a  step- 

*The  Rt.  Hon.  Harold  Baker. 

[222] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

wife  is  when  her  husband  is  mourning  the  death  of 
his  child;  and  not  for  the  first  time  I  profoundly 
wished  that  Raymond  had  been  my  son. 

Among  the  many  letters  we  received,  this  one 
from  Sir  Edward  Grey,  the  present  Lord  Grey  of 
Fallodon,  gave  my  husband  the  most  comfort: 

33  EccLESTON  Square, 
S.W. 
Sept.  IS,  1916. 
My  dear  Asquith, 

A  generation  has  passed  since  Raymond's 
mother  died  and  the  years  that  have  gone  make  me 
feel  for  and  with  you  even  more  than  I  would  then. 
Raymond  has  had  a  brilliant  and  unblemished  life ; 
he  chose  with  courage  the  heroic  part  in  this  war  and 
he  has  died  as  a  hero. 

If  this  life  be  all,  it  matters  not  whether  its  years 
be  few  or  many,  but  if  it  be  not  all,  then  Raymond's 
life  is  part  of  something  that  is  not  made  less  by  his 
death,  but  is  made  greater  and  ennobled  by  the 
quality  and  merit  of  his  life  and  death. 

I  would  fain  believe  that  those  who  die  do  not 
suffer  in  the  separation  from  those  they  love  here; 
that  time  is  not  to  them  what  it  is  to  us,  and  that  to 
them  the  years  of  separation  be  they  few  or  many 
will  be  but  as  yesterday. 

If  so  then  only  for  us,  who  are  left  here,  is  the 
pain  of  suffering  and  the  weariness  of  waiting  and 

[223] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 


< 


enduring;  the  one  beloved  is  spared  that.  There  is 
some  comfort  in  thinking  that  it  is  we,  not  the  loved 
one,  that  have  the  harder  part. 

I  grieve  especially  for  Raymond's  wife,  whose 
suffering  I  fear  must  be  what  is  unbearable.  I  hope 
the  knowledge  of  how  the  feelings  of  your  friends 
and  the  whole  nation,  and  not  of  this  nation  only, 
for  you  is  quickened  and  goes  out  to  you  will  help 
you  to  continue  the  public  work,  which  is  now  more 
than  ever  necessary,  and  will  give  you  strength. 
Your  courage  I  know  never  fails.  f 

Yours  affectionately, 

Edward  Grey. 

Raymond  Asquith  was  the  bravest  of  the  brave, 
nor  did  he  ever  complain  of  anything  that  fell  to  his 
lot  while  he  was  soldiering. 

It  might  have  been  written  of  him : 

He  died 
As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death 
To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  own'd. 
As  'twere  a  careless  trifle. 

— Macbeth,  Act  I.,  sc.  iv. 


Our  second  son,  Herbert,  began  his  career  as  a 

lawyer.     He  had  a  sweet  and  gentle  nature  and 

much  originality.     He  was  a  poet  and  wrote  the 

following  some  years  before  the  Great  War  of 

[224] 


f 


PRINCESS  BIBESCO,   MARGOT  ASQUITH's  ONLY  DAUGHTER,  WHO 
MARRIED  PRINCE  BIBESCO,  ROUMANIAN  DIPLOMAT 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

1914,  through  which  he  served  from  the  first  day 
to  the  last: 

The  Volunteer* 

Here  lies  a  clerk  who  half  his  life  had  spent 
Toiling  at  ledgers  in  a  city  grey, 
Thinking  that  so  his  days  would  drift  away 
With  no  lance  broken  in  life's  tournament ; 
Yet  ever  'twixt  the  book  and  his  bright  eyes 
The  gleaming  eagles  of  the  legions  came. 
And  horsemen,  charging  under  phantom  skies. 
Went  thundering  past  beneath  the  oriflamme. 

And  now  those  waiting  dreams  are  satisfied. 
From  twilight  to  the  halls  of  dawn  he  went; 
His  lance  is  broken — but  he  lies  content 
With  that  high  hour,  he  wants  no  recompense. 
Who  found  his  battle  in  the  last  resort. 
Nor  needs  he  any  hearse  to  bear  him  hence. 
Who  goes  to  join  the  men  at  Agincourt. 

He  wrote  this  when  he  was  in  Flanders  in  the 
war: 

The  Fallen  Spibe* 
(A  Flemish  Village) 

That  spire  is  gone  that  slept  for  centuries, 

Mirrored  among  the  lilies,  calm  and  low; 

And  now  the  water  holds  but  empty  skies 

Through  which  the  rivers  of  the  thunder  flow* 

♦Reprinted  from  The  Volunteer  and  other  Poems,  by  kind  permis- 
sion of  Messrs.  Sidgwick  &  Jackson. 

[225] 


M ARGOT  ASQUITH 

The  church  lies  broken  near  the  fallen  spire, 

For  here,  among  these  old  and  human  things. 

Death  sweeps  along  the  street  with  feet  of  fire, 
And  goes  upon  his  way  with  moaning  wings. 

On  pavements  by  the  kneeling  herdsmen  worn 
The  drifting  fleeces  of  the  shells  are  rolled ; 

Above  the  Saints  a  village  Christ  forlorn. 

Wounded  again,  looks  down  upon  His  fold. 

And  silence  follows  fast:  no  evening  peace. 

But  leaden  stillness,  when  the  thunder  wanes, 

Haunting  the  slender  branches  of  the  trees. 
And  settling  low  upon  the  listless  plains. 

"Beb,"  as  we  called  him,  married  Lady  Cynthia 
Charteris,  a  lovely  niece  of  Lady  de  Vesci  and 
daughter  of  another  beloved  and  interesting  friend 
of  mine,  the  present  Countess  of  Wemyss. 

Our  third  son,  Arthur  Asquith,  was  one  of  the 
great  soldiers  of  the  war.    He  married  Betty,  the  ! 
daughter  of  my  greatest  friend.  Lady  Manners,  a  | 
woman  who  has  never  failed  me  in  affection  and  j 
loyalty. 

Arthur  Asquith  joined  the  Royal  Naval  Division 
on  its  formation  in  September,  1914,  and  was  at- 
tached at  first  to  the  "Anson,"  and  during  the  j 
greater  part  of  his  service  to  the  "Hood"  Battalion.  | 
[226] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

In  the  early  days  of  October,  1914,  he  took  part  in 
the  operations  at  Antwerp  and,  after  further  train- 
ing at  home  in  the  camp  at  Blandf  ord,  went  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1915,  with  his  battalion  to  the  Dardanelles, 
where  they  formed  part  of  the  Second  Naval  Bri- 
gade. He  was  in  all  the  fighting  on  the  Gallipoli 
peninsula  and  was  wounded,  but  returned  to  duty 
and  was  one  of  the  last  to  embark  on  the  final  evacu- 
ation of  Helles,  in  January,  1916. 

In  the  following  May  the  Naval  Division  joined 
the  army  in  France,  becoming  the  63rd  Division, 
and  the  "Hood"  Battalion  (now  commanded  by 
Commander  Freyberg,  V.  C.)  formed  part  of  the 
189th  Brigade. 

In  the  Battle  of  the  Ancre  (February,  1917) 
Arthur  Asquith  was  severely  wounded  and  was 
awarded  the  D.S.O. 

In  the  following  April,  Commander  Freyberg 
having  been  promoted  to  be  a  Brigadier,  Arthur 
Asquith  took  over  the  command  of  the  "Hood" 
Battalion  and  played  a  leading  part  in  the  opera- 
tions against  Gavrelle,  taking  the  mayor's  house 
(which  was  the  key  to  the  position)  by  assault  and 
capturing  the  German  garrison.    It  was  largely  due 

[227] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

to  him  that  Gavrelle  was  taken;  and  he  was  awarded 
a  bar  to  his  D.S.O. 

In  October,  1917,  in  the  Battle  of  Passchendaele 
the  Naval  Division  were  heavily  engaged.  The 
following  account  of  what  happened  near  Poelcap- 
pelle  (October  26th)  is  taken  from  the  History  of 
the  Royal  Naval  Division,  by  Sub-Lieutenants  Fry 
and  McMillan: 

On  account  of  the  serious  losses  in  officers,  the 
four  battalions  were  getting  out  of  hand  when  Com- 
mander Asquith,  like  the  born  fighter  that  he  is, 
came  forward  and  saved  the  situation.  He  placed 
his  battalion  in  the  most  advantageous  positions  to 
meet  any  counter-attacks  that  might  develop. 
That  done,  in  spite  of  heavy  artillery  and  machine- 
gun  fire,  he  passed  from  end  to  end  of  the  line  we 
were  holding  and  superintended  the  consolidation 
of  our  gains.  In  addition,  he  established  liaison 
with  the  Canadians  on  our  right,  and  thus  closed  a 
breach  which  might  have  caused  us  infinite  trouble 
and  been  the  source  of  our  undoing. 

Arthur  Asquith  was  recommended  for  the  V.C. 
(he,  in  fact,  received  a  second  bar  to  his  D.S.O.) ; 
and  these  are  the  terms  of  the  official  recommenda- 
tion : 

Near  Poelcappelle,  during  the  operations  of 
October  26th-27th,  1917,  Commander  Asquith  dis- 

[228] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

played  the  greatest  bravery,  initiative  and  splendid 
leadership,  and  by  his  reconnaissance  of  the  front 
line  made  under  heavy  fire,  contributed  much  val- 
uable information  which  made  the  successful  con- 
tinuance of  the  operations  possible.  During  the 
morning  of  the  26th,  when  no  news  was  forthcoming 
of  the  position  of  the  attacking  troops,  Commander 
Asquith  went  forward,  through  heavy  fire,  round 
the  front  positions,  and  heedless  of  personal  danger, 
found  out  our  dispositions,  got  into  touch  with  the 
troops  on  the  right,  and  returned  after  some  hours 
with  most  valuable  information.  On  the  night  of 
the  same  day,  he  went  forward  alone  in  bright 
moonlight  and  explored  the  ground  in  the  vicinity 
of  Varlet  Farm,  where  the  situation  was  not  clear. 
He  was  observed  by  the  enemy,  but,  in  spite  of 
heavy  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire  directed  at  him, 
and  the  fact  that  the  going  was  necessarily  slow,  ow- 
ing to  the  awful  state  of  the  ground,  he  approached 
Varlet  Farm  then  reported  to  be  in  the  hands  of 
the  enemy.  Entering  a  concrete  building  alone  he 
found  it  occupied  by  a  small  British  garrison,  who 
were  exhausted  and  almost  without  ammunition 
and  the  most  of  them  wounded.  After  investigat- 
ing the  ground  thoroughly  he  returned  and  led  up 
three  platoons  of  a  company  of  this  battalion  and 
relieved  the  garrison.  He  superintended  the  dis- 
posal of  the  troops,  putting  one  platoon  in  the  build- 
ing as  garrison  and  placing  the  other  two  platoons 
on  each  flank.  A  very  important  position  was 
therefore  kept  entirely  in  our  hands,  owing  to  mag- 
nificent bravery,  leadership  and  utter  disregard  of 

[229] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

his  own  personal  safety.  This  example  of  bravery 
and  cool  courage  displayed  throughout  the  opera- 
tions by  Commander  Asquith  encouraged  the  men 
to  greater  efforts,  and  kept  up  their  moral.  His 
valuable  reconnaissance,  the  manner  in  which  he 
led  his  men  and  his  determination  to  hold  the 
ground  gained,  contributed  very  largely  to  the  suc- 
cess of  the  operations. 

On  December  16th,  1917,  he  was  appointed  Brig- 
adier to  command  the  189th  Brigade;  and  a  few 
days  later,  in  reconnoitring  the  position,  he  was 
again  severely  wounded.  His  leg  had  to  be  ampu- 
tated and  he  was  disabled  from  further  active  ser- 
vice in  the  war. 

I  never  saw  Arthur  Asquith  lose  his  temper  or 
think  of  himself  in  my  life. 

•  •••••• 

I  look  around  to  see  what  child  of  which  friend 
is  left  to  become  the  wife  of  my  son  Anthony;  and  i 
I  wonder  whether  she  will  be  as  virtuous,  loving  and  1 
good-looking  as  my  other  daughters-in-law. 

We  were  all  wonderfully  happy  together,  but, 
looking  back,  I  think  I  was  far  from  clever  with  | 
my  stepchildren;  they  grew  up  good  and  success-  \ 
ful  independently  of  me. 

In  consequence  of  our  unpopularity  in  Peebles-  i 
[230] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

shire,  I  had  no  opportunity  of  meeting  other  young 
people  in  their  homes;  and  I  knew  no  family  ex- 
cept my  own.  The  wealth  of  art  and  music,  the 
luxury  of  flowers  and  colour,  the  stretches  of  wild 
country  both  in  Scotland  and  high  Leicestershire, 
which  had  made  up  my  life  till  I  married,  had  not 
qualified  me  to  understand  children  reared  in  dif- 
ferent circumstances.  I  would  not  perhaps  have 
noticed  many  trifles  in  my  step-family,  had  I  not 
been  so  much  made  of,  so  overloved,  caressed  and 
independent  before  my  marriage. 
Every  gardener  prunes  the  roots  of  a  tree  before 

Kis  transplanted,  but  no  one  had  ever  pruned  me. 
you  have  been  sunned  through  and  through  like 
I  apricot  on  a  wall  from  your  earliest  days,  you 
e  over-sensitive  to  any  withdrawal  of  heat.  This 
had  been  clearly  foreseen  by  my  friends  and  they 
were  genuinely  anxious  about  the  happiness  and 
future  of  my  stepchildren.  I  do  not  know  which 
of  us  had  been  considered  the  boldest  in  our  mar- 
riage, my  husband  or  myself;  and  no  doubt  step- 
relationships  should  not  be  taken  in  hand  unad- 
visedly, lightly,  or  wantonly,  but  reverently,  dis- 
creetly, and  soberly.    In  every  one  of  the  letters 

[231] 


f 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

congratulating  me  there  had  been  a  note  of  warn- 
ing. 

Mr.  Gladstone  wrote: 


(i 


I 


May  5th,  1894. 
You  have  a  great  and  noble  work  to  perform. 
It  is  a  work  far  beyond  human  strength.    May  the 
strength  which  is  more  than  human  be  abundantly 
granted  you. 

Ever  yours, 

W.  E.  G. 

I  remember,  on  receiving  this,  saying  to  my  be- 
loved friend,  Con  Manners: 

"Gladstone  thinks  my  fitness  to  be  Henry's  wife 
should  be  prayed  for  like  the  clergy :  *  Almighty  and 
Everlasting  God,  who  alone  workest  great  mar- 
vels. .  .  .' " 

John  Morley  wrote: 

95  Elm  Park  Gardens, 
South  Kensington^ 
S.W. 
March  7, 1894. 
My  dear  Miss  Margot, 

Now  that  the  whirl  of  congratulations  must  be 
ceasing,  here  are  mine,  the  latest  but  not  the  least 
warm  of  them  all.  You  are  going  to  marry  one  of 
the  finest  men  in  all  the  world,  with  a  great  store  of 
sterling  gifts  both  of  head  and  heart,  and  with  a  life 
before  him  of  the  highest  interest,  importance  and 

[232] 


I' 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

power.  Such  a  man  is  a  companion  that  any  wo- 
man might  envy  you.  I  daresay  you  know  this 
without  my  telling  you.  On  the  other  part,  I  will 
not  add  myself  to  those  impertinents  who — as  I 
understand  you  to  report — wish  you  "to  improve." 
I  very  respectfully  wish  nothing  of  the  sort.  Few 
qualities  are  better  worth  leaving  as  they  are  than 
vivacity,  wit,  freshness  of  mind,  gaiety  and  pluck. 
Pray  keep  them  all.    Don't  improve  by  an  atom. 

Circumstances  may  have  a  lesson  or  two  to  teach 
you,  but  'tis  only  the  dull  who  don't  learn,  and  I 
have  no  fear  but  that  such  a  pair  have  happy  years 
in  front  of  them. 

You  ask  for  my  blessing  and  you  have  it.  Be 
sure  that  I  wish  you  as  unclouded  a  hfe  as  can  be 
the  lot  of  woman,  and  I  hope  you  will  always  let 
\  me  count  myself  your  friend.  I  possess  some 
aphorisms  on  the  married  state — ^but  they  will  keep. 
I  only  let  them  out  as  occasion  comes. 

Always  yours  sincerely, 
^^  John  Morley. 

H  Looking  back  now  on  the  first  years  of  my  mar- 
Hpage,  1  cannot  exaggerate  the  gratitude  which  I 
!  feel  for  the  tolerance,  patience  and  loyalty  that  my 
stepchildren  extended  to  a  stranger;  for,  although 
I  introduced  an  enormous  amount  of  fun,  beauty 
and  movement  into  their  lives,  I  could  not  replace 
what  they  had  lost. 

Henry's  first  wife,  Helen  Asquith,  was  an  ex- 

[233] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

ceptionally  pretty,  refined  woman ;  never  dull,  never 
artificial,  and  of  single-minded  goodness ;  she  was  a 
wonderful  wife  and  a  devoted  mother,  but  was  with- 
out illusions  and  even  less  adventurous  than  her 
children.  She  told  me  in  one  of  our  talks  how  much 
she  regretted  that  her  husband  had  taken  silk  and 
was  in  the  House  of  Commons,  at  which  I  said  in 
a  glow  of  surprise: 

"But  surely,  Mrs.  Asquith,  you  are  ambitious  for 
your  husband!    Why,  he's  a  wonderful  man!" 

This  conversation  took  place  in  Grosvenor 
Square  the  second  time  that  we  met,  when  she 
brought  her  little  girl  to  see  me.  Violet  was  aged 
four  and  a  self-possessed,  plump,  clever  little  crea- 
ture, with  lovely  hair  hanging  in  Victorian  ringlets 
down  her  back. 

The  children  were  not  like  Helen  Asquith  in  ap- 
pearance, except  Raymond,  who  had  her  beautiful 
eyes  and  brow;  but,  just  as  they  had  none  of  their 
father's  emotion  and  some  of  his  intellect,  they  all 
inherited  their  mother's  temperament,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Violet,  who  was  more  susceptible  to  the 
new  environment  than  her  brothers.  The  greatest 
compliment  that  was  ever  paid  to  my  appearance — 
and  one  that  helped  me  most  when  I  felt  discour- 
[234] 


) 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

aged  in  my  early  married  life — was  what  Helen 
Asquith  said  to  my  husband  and  he  repeated  to  me: 

"There  is  something  a  little  noble  about  Margol 
Tennant's  expression." 

•  •••••• 

If  my  stepchildren  were  patient  with  me,  I  dare 
not  say  what  their  father  was :  there  are  some  reser- 
vations the  boldest  biographer  has  a  right  to  claim; 
and  I  shall  only  write  of  my  husband's  character — 

fhis  loyalty,  lack  of  vanity,  freedom  from  self, 
warmth  and  width  of  sympathy — in  connection  with 
politics  and  not   with  myself;  but  since  I  ht:ve 

tuched  on  this  subject  I  will  give  one  illustration 
his  nature. 
When  the  full  meaning  of  the  disreputable  Gen- 
al  Election  of  1918,  with  its  promises  and  pre- 
tensions and  all  its  silly  and  false  cries,  was  burnt 
into  me  at  Paisley  in  this  year  of  1920  by  our  Coali- 
"  tion  opponent  re-repeating  them,  I  said  to  Henry: 
"Oh,  if  I  had  only  quietly  dropped  all  my  friends 
ef  German  name  when  the  war  broke  out  and  never 
gone  to  say  good-bye  to  those  poor  Lichnowskys, 
these  ridiculous  lies  propagated  entirely  for  politi- 
cal purposes  would  never  have  been  told;  and  this 

[235] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

criminal  pro-German  stunt  could  not  have  been 
started." 

To  which  he  replied: 

"God  forbid  I  I  would  rather  ten  thousand  times 
be  out  of  public  life  for  ever." 


[236] 


CHAPTER  VII 

VISIT  TO  woman's  prison — INTERVIEW  THERE  WITH 
MRS.  MAYBRICK — SCENE  IN  A  LIFER's  CELL;  THE 
HUSBAND   WHO   NEVER  KNEW  THOUGHT   WIFE 

MADE   MONEY   SEWING MARGOT's   PLEA   THAT 

FAILED 

MY  husband  was  Home  Secretary  when  we 
married,  and  took  a  serious  interest  in  our 
prison  system,  which  he  found  far  from  satis- 
factory. He  thought  that  it  would  be  a  good  thing, 
before  we  were  known  by  sight,  to  pay  a  surprise 
visit  to  the  convict-prisons  and  that,  if  I  could  see 
the  women  convicts  and  he  could  see  the  men 
privately,  he  would  be  able  to  examine  the  condi- 
tions under  which  they  served  their  sentences  better 
than  if  we  were  to  go  officially. 

I  was  expecting  my  baby  in  about  three  months 
when  we  made  this  expedition. 

Wormwood  Scrubs  was  the  promising,  almost 
Dickens-like  name  of  one  of  our  convict-prisons 
and,  at  that  time,  took  in  both  men  and  women. 

The  governor  scrutinised  Henry's  fine  writing  on 

[287] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

our  permits ;  he  received  us  dryly,  but  without  sus- 
picion; and  we  divided  off,  having  settled  to 
meet  at  the  front  door  after  an  hour  and  a  half's 
inspection. 

The  matron  who  accompanied  me  was  a  power- 
ful, intelligent-looking  woman  of  hard  countenance 
and  short  speech.  I  put  a  few  stupid  questions  to 
her  about  the  prison:  how  many  convicts  they  had, 
if  the  food  was  good,  etc. 

She  asked  me  if  I  would  care  to  see  Mrs.  May- 
brick,  an  American  criminal,  who  had  been  charged 
with  murder,  but  sentenced  for  manslaughter.  This 
woman  had  poisoned  her  husband  with  mild  in- 
sistence by  arsenic,  but,  as  he  was  taking  this  for 
his  health  at  the  time  of  his  death,  the  evidence  was 
conflicting  as  to  where  he  stopped  and  she  began. 
She  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  lady  and  beauti- 
ful; and  petitions  for  her  reprieve  were  sent  to  us 
signed  by  every  kind  of  person  from  the  United 
States.  I  told  the  matron  I  would  see  her  and  was 
shown  into  her  cell,  where  I  found  her  sitting  on  a 
stool  against  a  bleak  desk,  at  which  she  was  reading. 
I  noted  her  fine  eyes  and  common  mouth  and, 
apologising,  said: 

"I  hope  you  will  not  mind  a  stranger  coming  to 
[238] 


4 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

enquire  how  you  are  getting  on,"  adding,  "Have 
you  any  complaints  to  make  of  the  prison?  " 

The  matron  had  left  me  and,  the  doors  being 
thick,  I  felt  pretty  sure  she  could  not  hear  what  we 
were  saying. 

Mrs.  Maybrick  (shrugging  her  shoulders): 
"The  butter  here  is  abominable  and  we  are  only 
given  two  books — The  Pilgrirrv's  Progress  and  the 
Bible — and  what  do  you  say  to  our  looking- 
glasses?"  {pointing  to  a  little  glass ^  four  inches 
big,  in  a  deep  thick  frame  hanging  on  a  peg). 
"Do  you  know  why  it  is  so  small?" 

Margot:  "No." 

Mrs.  Maybrick:  "Because  the  women  who  want 
to  kill  themselves  can't  get  their  heels  in  to  break  the 
glass;  if  they  could  they  would  cut  their  throats. 
The  men  don't  have  looking-glasses  at  all." 

Margot:  "Do  you  think  they  would  like  to  have 
them? " 

Mrs.  Maybrick  (shrugging  her  shoulders  again 
and  fingering  her  blue  cotton  blouse) :  "I  don't 
suppose  they  care!  I'm  sure  no  one  could  wish  to 
see  themselves  with  cropped  hair  and  in  these 
hideous  clothes." 

Margot:  "I  think  that  I  could  get  you  every 

[239] 


1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

kind  of  book,  if  yoa  like  reading,  and  will  tell  me 
what  you  want." 

Mrs.  Maybeick  (tvith  a  sudden  laugh  and  look- 
ing at  me  with  a  contemptuous  expression  which 
made  my  heart  ache) :  "Oh,  no,  you  couldn't! 
Never  mind  me!  But  you  might  tell  them  about 
the  butter." 

•  •••••• 

I  did  not  find  Mrs,  Maybrick  sympathique  and 
shortly  after  this  rejoined  the  matron.  It  was  the 
first  time  I  had  seen  a  prison  and  my  heart  and 
mind  were  moved  as  we  went  from  cell  to  cell 
nodding  to  the  grey  occupants. 

"Have  you  any  very  bad  cases?"  I  asked.  "I 
mean  any  woman  who  is  difficult  and  unhappy?" 

Matron:  "Yes,  there  is  one  woman  here  who  has 
been  sitting  on  the  floor  for  the  last  three  days  and, 
except  a  Uttle  water,  I  don't  think  she  has  swallowed 
a  mouthful  of  food  since  she  came  in.  She  is  a 
violent  person  and  uses  foul  language.  I  do  not 
think  you  had  better  see  her." 

Margot:  "Thank  you,  I  am  not  at  all  afraid. 

Please  take  me  to  her  cell." 

Matron  (still  reluctant  and  eyeing  my  figure): 
"She  may  not  speak  to  you,  but  if  she  does  it  might 
[240] 


iUHGOT  A8QUITH  AND  HER  SON,  ANTHONT,  WHOSE  IKFLUENCB 
VER  HER,  SHE  SAYS  IN   HER  DIARY,  HAS  BEEN  GREATEB 
I'HAN   THAT  OF  ANY  OTHER   HUMAN   BEING 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

give  you  a  shock.  Do  you  think  you  are  wise  to  go 
in  your  present  condition?" 

Makgot:  "Oh,  that's  all  right,  thanks!  I  am 
not  easily  shocked." 

When  we  came  to  the  cell,  I  took  the  precaution 
of  telling  the  matron  she  could  leave  me,  as  after 
this  visit  I  should  have  to  join  my  husband  and  I 
could  find  my  way  to  the  front  hall  by  myself.  She 
opened  the  door  in  silence  and  let  me  in. 

Crouching  on  the  stone  floor,  in  an  animal  atti- 

Ibde,  I  saw  a  woman.    She  did  not  look  up  when 
I  went  in  nor  turn  when  I  shut  the  door.     Her 
yebrows    almost   joined   above   a   square-tipped 
nose;  and  her  eyes,  shaded  by  long  black  lashes, 
were  fixed  upon  the  ground.    Her  hair  grew  well, 
^ut  of  a  beautiful  forehead,  and  the  red  curve  of 
Her  mouth  gave  expression  to  a  wax-like  face.    I 
had  never  seen  a  more  striking-looking  creature. 

After  my  usual  apology  and  a  gentle  recitative 
of  why  I  had  come,  she  turned  what  little  I  could 
see  of  her  face  away  from  me  and  whatever  I 
suggested  after  that  was  greeted  with  impenetrable 
silence. 

At  last  I  said  to  her: 

"It  is  so  difficult  for  me  to  stand  and  talk  while 

[241] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH  j 

you  are  sitting  on  the  ground.    Won't  you  get  up?" 

No  answer.  At  this — being  an  active  woman — 
I  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  stone  floor  and  took 
her  hand  in  both  of  mine.  She  did  not  withdraw 
it,  but  lifted  her  lashes  to  look  at  me.  I  noted  the 
sullen,  exhausted  expression  in  her  grey  eyes;  my 
heart  beat  at  the  beauty  of  her  face. 

"Why  don't  you  speak  to  me?"  I  said.  "I 
might,  for  all  you  know,  be  able  to  do  a  great  deal 
for  you."  |j 

This  was  greeted  by  a  faint  gleam  and  a  pro- 
longed shake  of  the  head. 

Margot:  "You  look  very  young.  What  is  it 
you  did,  that  brought  you  into  this  prison," 

My  question  seemed  to  surprise  her  and  after  a 
moment's  silence  she  said: 

"Don't  you  know  why  I  am  sentenced?" 

Margot:  "No;  and  you  need  not  tell  me  if  you 
don't  want  to.    How  long  are  you  here  for? " 

The  Woman  {in  a  penetrating  voice) :  "Life!" 

Margot:  "That's  impossible;  no  one  is  punished 
for  life  unless  they  commit  murder;  and  even  then 
the  sentence  is  always  shortened." 

The  Woman:  "Shortened  in  time  for  what? 
For  your  death  and  burial?    Perhaps  you  don't 
[242] 


HOME  SECRETARIES :  PAST  AND  PRESENT  DOWN  TO  H.  H.  ASQUITH 


I 


[243] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

know  how  kind  they  are  to  us  here!    No  one  is 
allowed  to  die  in  prison!    But  by  the  time  your 
health  is  gone,  your  hair  white  and  your  friends  are 
dead,  your  family  do  not  need  you  and  all  that  can 
be  done  for  you  is  done  by  charity.    You  die  and 
your  eyes  are  closed  by  your  landlady." 
Margot:  "Tell  me  what  you  did." 
The  Woman:  "Only  what  all  you  fashionable 
women  do  every  day.  .  .  ." 
Maegot:  "What?" 

The  Woman:  "I  helped  those  who  were  in 
trouble  to  get  rid  of  their  babies." 
Margot:  "Did  you  take  money  for  it?" 
The  Woman:  "Sometimes  I  did  it  for  nothing." 
Margot:  "What  sort  of  women  did  you  help?" 
The  Woman:  "Oh,  quite  poor  women!" 
Margot:  "When  you  charged  them,  how  much 
loney  did  you  ask  for?" 

The  Woman:  "Four  or  five  pounds  and  often 
less." 

Margot:  "Was  your  husband  a  respectable  man 
and  did  he  know  anything  about  it?" 

The  Woman:     "My  husband  was  highly  re- 
spected.   He  was  a  stone-mason,  and  well  to  do, 

[245] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

and  knew  nothing  at  all  till  I  was  arrested.  .  .  • 
He  thought  I  made  money  sewing."  r 

Margot:    "Poor  man,  how  tragic!" 

After  this  rather  stupid  ejaculation  of  mine,  she 
relapsed  into  a  frozen  silence  and  I  got  up  off  the 
ground  and  asked  her  if  she  liked  books.  No  an- 
swer. If  the  food  was  good?  No  answer.  If  her 
bed  was  clean  and  comfortable?  But  all  my  ques- 
tions were  in  vain.  At  last  she  broke  the  silence  by 
saying: 

"You  said  just  now  that  you  might  be  able  to 
help  me.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that 
I  want,  and  you  could  not  help  to  get  it.  .  .  .  No 
one  can  help  me.  .  .  ." 

Margot:  "Tell  me  what  you  want.  How  can  I 
or  any  one  else  help  you  while  you  sit  on  the  ground, 
neither  speaking  nor  eating?  Get  up  and  I  will 
listen  to  you;  otherwise  I  shall  go  away." 

After  this  she  got  up  stiffly  and  Uf ted  her  arms  in 
a  stretch  above  her  head,  showing  the  outline  of  her 
fine  bust.    I  said  to  her : 

"I  would  like  to  help  you." 

The  Woman:    "I  want  to  see  one  person  and 
only  one.    I  think  of  nothing  else  and  wonder  night 
and  day  how  it  could  be  managed." 
[246] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Margot:  "Tell  me  who  it  is,  this  one  person, 
that  you  think  of  and  want  so  much  to  see." 

The  Woman:    "I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Asquith." 

Margot  (dumb  with  surprise) :    "Why?" 

The  Woman:  "Because  she  is  only  just  mar- 
ried and  will  never  again  have  as  much  influence 
over  her  husband  as  she  has  now;  and  I  am  told  she 
is  kind.  .  .  ." 

Margot  {moving  towards  her) :  "I  am  Mrs. 
Asquith." 

At  this  the  woman  gave  a  sort  of  howl  and,  shiv- 
ering, with  her  teeth  set,  flung  herself  at  my  feet 
and  clasped  my  ankles  with  an  iron  clutch.  I  should 
have  fallen,  but,  loosening  her  hold  with  great  ra- 
pidity, she  stood  up  and,  facing  me,  held  me  by  my 
shoulders.  The  door  opened  and  the  matron  ap- 
peared, at  which  the  woman  sprang  at  her  with  a 
tornado  of  oaths,  using  strange  words  that  I  had 
never  heard  before.  I  tried  to  silence  her,  but  in 
vain,  so  I  told  the  matron  that  she  might  go  and 
find  out  if  my  husband  was  ready  for  me.  She  did 
not  move  and  seemed  put  out  by  my  request. 

"I  really  think,"  she  said,  "that  you  are  extremely 
foolish  risking  anything  with  this  woman.' 

The  Woman   {in  a  penetrating  voice) :  "You 

[247] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

clear  out  and  go  to  hell  with  you!  This  person  is  a 
Christian,  and  you  are  not!    You  are  a !'* 

I  put  my  hand  over  her  mouth  and  said  I  would 
leave  her  for  ever  if  she  did  not  stop  swearing.  She 
sat  down.    I  turned  to  the  matron  and  said: 

"You  need  not  fear  for  me,  thank  you;  we  prefer 
being  left  alone." 

When  the  matron  had  shut  the  door,  the  woman 
sprang  up  and,  banging  it  with  her  back,  remained 
with  arms  akimbo  and  her  legs  apart,  looking  at  me 
in  defiance.  I  thought  to  myself,  as  I  watched  her 
resolute  face  and  strong,  young  figure,  that,  if  she 
wanted  to  prevent  me  getting  out  of  that  room 
alive,  she  could  easily  do  so. 

The  Woman:  "You  heard  what  I  said,  that 
you  would  never  have  as  much  influence  with  your 
husband  as  you  have  now,  so  just  listen.  He  is  all- 
powerful  and,  if  he  looks  into  my  case,  he  will  see 
that  I  am  innocent  and  ought  to  be  let  out.  The 
last  Home  Secretary  was  not  married  and  never 
took  any  interest  in  us  poor  women." 

Hearing  the  matron  tapping  at  the  door  and  feel- 
ing rather  anxious  to  get  out,  I  said : 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  that  I  will  make 
my  husband  read  up  all  your  case.  The  matron 
[248] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
will  give  me  your  name  and  details,  but  I  must  go 


now." 


The  Woman  {with  a  sinister  look) :  "Oh,  no, 
you  don't !  You  stay  here  till  I  give  you  the  details : 
what  does  a  woman  like  that  care  for  a  woman  like 
me?"  {throwing  her  thumb  over  her  shoulder  to- 
wards the  matron  behind  the  door) .  "What  does 
she  know  about  life?" 

Makgot:  "You  must  let  me  open  the  door  and 
get  a  pencil  and  paper." 

The  Woman:  "The  old  lady  will  do  it  for  you 
while  I  give  you  the  details  of  my  case.  You  have 
only  got  to  give  her  your  orders.  Does  she  know 
who  you  are?" 

Maegot  :  "No ;  and  you  must  not  tell  her,  please. 
If  you  will  trust  me  with  your  secret,  I  will  trust 
you  with  mine;  but  you  must  let  me  out  first  if  I 
am  to  help  you." 

With  a  lofty  wave  of  my  hand,  but  without  tak- 
ing one  step  forward,  I  made  her  move  away  from 
the  door,  which  I  opened  with  a  feeling  of  relief. 
The  matron  was  in  the  passage  and,  while  she  was 
fetching  a  pencil,  the  woman,  standing  in  the  door- 
way of  her  cell,  told  me  in  lowered  tones  how  cruelly 
unlucky  she  had  been  in  life;  what  worthless,  care- 

[249] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

less  girls  had  passed  through  her  hands;  and  how 
they  had  died  from  no  fault  of  hers,  but  through 
their  own  ignorance.    She  ended  by  saying: 

"There  is  no  gratitude  in  this  world.  .  .  ." 

When  the  matron  came  back,  she  was  much 
shocked  at  seeing  me  kiss  the  convict. 

I  said,  "Good-bye,"  and  never  saw  her  again. 

My  husband  looked  carefully  into  her  case,  but 
found  that  she  was  a  professional  abortionist  of  the 
most  hopeless  type. 


[250] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MAEGOT's  first  baby  and  its  loss — DANGEROUS  ILL- 
NESS— LETTER  FROM  QUEEN  VICTORIA — SIR  WIL- 
LIAM HARCOURT's  pleasantries — ^ASQUITH 
MINISTRY  FALLS — VISIT  FROM  DUCHESS  d'aOSTA 

SIR  JOHN  WILLIAMS*  was  my  doctor  and 
would  have  been  a  remarkable  man  in  any 
country,  but  in  Wales  he  was  unique.  He  was  a 
man  of  heart  without  hysteria  and  both  loyal  and 
truthful. 

On  the  18th  of  May,  1895,  my  sisters  Charlotte 
id  Lucy  were  sitting  with  me  in  my  bedroom.  I 
will  quote  from  my  diary  the  account  of  my  first 
confinement  and  how  I  got  to  know  him : 

"I  began  to  feel  ill.  My  Gamp,  an  angular- 
faced,  admirable  old  woman  called  Jerusha  Taylor 
— *out  of  the  Book  of  Kings' — was  bustling  about 
preparing  for  the  doctor.  Henry  was  holding  my 
hands  and  I  was  sobbing  in  an  arm-chair,  feeling 

♦Sir  John  Williams,  of  Aberystwyth,  Wales. 

[251] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

the  panic  of  pain  and  fear  which  no  one  can  reahse 
who  has  not  had  a  baby. 

"When  Williams  arrived,  I  felt  as  if  salvation 
must  be  near ;  my  whole  soul  and  every  beat  of  my 
heart  went  out  in  dumb  appeal  to  him,  and  his 
tenderness  on  that  occasion  bred  in  me  a  love  and 
gratitude  which  never  faded,  but  was  intensified  by 
all  I  saw  of  him  afterwards.  He  seemed  to  think 
a  narcotic  would  calm  my  nerves,  but  the  sleeping- 
draught  might  have  been  water  for  all  the  effect  it 
had  upon  me,  so  he  gave  me  chloroform.  The  room 
grew  dark;  grey  poppies  appeared  to  be  nodding 
at  me — and  I  gasped : 

"  *0h,  doctor,  dear  doctor,  stay  with  me  to-night, 
just  this  one  night,  and  I  will  stay  with  you  when-  | 
ever  you  like!'  1 

"But  Williams  was  too  anxious,  my  nurse  told 
me,  to  hear  a  word  I  said. 

"At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  Henry  went  to 
fetch  the  ansesthetist  and  in  his  absence  Williams  ! 
took  me  out  of  chloroform.    Then  I  seemed  to  have  ; 
a  glimpse  of  a  different  world :  if  pain  is  evil,  then 
it  was  hell;  if  not,  I  expect  I  got  nearer  Heaven 
than  I  have  ever  been  before.  .  .  . 

"I  saw  Dr.  Bailey  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  with  a 
[252] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

bag  in  his  hand,  and  Charty's  outline  against  the 
lamp ;  then  my  head  was  placed  on  the  pillow  and  a 
black  thing  came  between  me  and  the  light  and 
closed  over  my  mouth,  a  slight  beating  of  carpets 
sounded  in  my  brain  and  I  knew  no  more.  .  .  . 

"When  I  came  to  consciousness  about  twelve  the 
next  morning,  I  saw  Charty  looking  at  me  and  I 
said  to  her  m  a  strange  voice: 

**  *I  can't  have  any  more  pain,  it's  no  use.' 
"Charty:    'No,  no,  darling,  you  won't  have  any 
more.'    (Silence,) 

"Margot:  *But  you  don't  mean  it's  all  over?' 
'^Charty  (soothingly) :  *Go  to  sleep,  dearest.' 
"I  was  so  dazed  by  chloroform  that  I  could  hard- 
ly speak.  Later  on  the  nurse  told  me  that  the  doc- 
tor had  had  to  sacrifice  my  baby  and  that  I  ought  to 
be  grateful  for  being  spared,  as  I  had  had  a  very 
dangerous  confinement. 

"When  Sir  John  Williams  came  to  see  me,  he 
looked  white  and  tired  and,  finding  my  temperature 
was  normal,  he  said  fervently : 
"  'Thank  you,  Mrs.  Asquith.' 
"I  was  too  weak  and  uncomfortable  to  reahse 
all  that  had  happened;  and  what  I  suffered  from 
the  smallest  noise  I  can  hardly  describe.    I  would 

[253] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

watch  nurse  slowly  approaching  and  burst  into  a 
perspiration  when  her  cotton  dress  crinkled  against 
the  chintz  of  my  bed.  I  shivered  with  fear  when 
the  blinds  were  drawn  up  or  the  shutters  unfast- 
ened ;  and  any  one  moving  up  or  down  stairs,  plac- 
ing a  tumbler  on  the  marble  wash-hand-stand  or 
reading  a  newspaper  would  bring  tears  into  my 
eyes."  5 

In  connection  with  what  I  have  quoted  out  of 
my  diary  here  it  is  not  inappropriate  to  add  that  I 
lost  my  babies  in  three  out  of  my  five  confinements. 
These  poignant  and  secret  griefs  have  no  place  on 
the  high-road  of  life;  but,  just  as  Henry  and  I  will 
stand  sometimes  side  by  side  near  those  little  graves 
unseen  by  strangers,  so  he  and  I  in  unobserved  mo- 
ments will  touch  with  one  heart  an  unforgotten 
sorrow. 

Out  of  the  many  letters  which  I  received,  this 
from  our  intimate  and  affectionate  friend,  Lord 
Haldane,  was  the  one  I  liked  best: 

My  dear  Friend, 

I  cannot  easily  tell  you  how  much  touched  I  was 
in  the  few  minutes  I  spent  talking  to  you  this  after- 
noon, by  what  I  saw  and  what  you  told  me.  I  left 
with  the  sense  of  witnessing  triumph  in  failure  and 
life  come  through  death.    The  strength  that  is  given 

[254] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

at  such  times  arises  not  from  ignoring  loss,  or  per- 
suading oneself  that  the  thing  is  not  that  is;  but 
from  the  resolute  setting  of  the  face  to  the  East  and 
the  taking  of  one  step  onwards.  It  is  the  quality 
we  touch — it  may  be  but  for  a  moment — not  the 
quantity  we  have,  that  counts.  "All  I  could  never 
be,  all  that  was  lost  in  me  is  yet  there — in  His  hand 
who  planned  the  perfect  whole."  That  was  what 
Browning  saw  vividly  when  he  wrote  his  Rabbi  Ben 
Ezra.  You  have  lost  a  great  joy.  But  in  the  deep- 
ening and  strengthening  the  love  you  two  have  for 
each  other  you  have  gained  what  is  rarer  and  better; 
it  is  well  worth  the  pain  and  grief — the  grief  you 
have  borne  in  common — and  you  will  rise  stronger 
and  freer. 

We  all  of  us  are  parting  from  youth,  and  the 
horizon  is  narrowing,  but  I  do  not  feel  any  loss  that 
is  not  compensated  by  gain,  and  I  do  not  think  that 
you  do  either.  Anything  that  detaches  one,  that 
makes  one  turn  from  the  past  and  look  simply  at 
what  one  has  to  do,  brings  with  it  new  strength  and 
new  intensity  of  interest.  I  have  no  fear  for  you 
when  I  see  what  is  absolutely  and  unmistakably 
good  and  noble  obliterating  every  other  thought  as 
I  saw  it  this  afternoon.  I  went  away  with 
strengthened  faith  in  what  human  nature  was 
capable  of. 

May  all  that  is  highest  and  best  lie  before  you 

both. 

Your  aff ec.  friend, 
R.  B.  Haldane. 

[255] 


1 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  was  gradually  recovering  my  health  when  on 
May  the  21st,  1895,  after  an  agonising  night.  Sir 
John  Williams  and  Henry  came  into  my  bedroom 
between  five  and  six  in  the  morning  and  I  was  told 
that  I  should  have  to  lie  on  my  back  till  August,  as 
I  was  suffering  from  phlebitis;  but  I  was  too  un- 
happy and  disappointed  to  mind.  It  was  then  that 
my  doctor.  Sir  John  Williams,  became  my  friend 
as  well  as  my  nurse,  and  his  nobihty  of  character 
made  him  a  powerful  influence  in  my  life. 

To  return  to  my  diary: 

"Queen  Victoria  took  a  great  interest  in  my  con- 
finement, and  wrote  Henry  a  charming  letter.  She 
sent  messengers  constantly  to  ask  after  me  and  I 
answered  her  myself  once,  in  pencil,  when  Henry  | 
was  at  the  Home  Office. 

"I  was  convalescing  one  day,  lying  as  usual  on  my 
bed,  my  mind  a  blank,  when  Sir  William  Har- 
court's  card  was  sent  up  to  me  and  my  door  was 
darkened  by  his  huge  form. 

I  had  seen  most  of  my  political  and  other 
friends  while  I  was  convalescing:  Mr.  Gladstone, 
Lord  Haldane,  Mr.  Birrell,  Lord  Spencer,  Lord 
Rosebery,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  John 
Morley,  Arthur  Balfour,  Sir  Alfred  Lyall  and 
[256] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

Admiral  Maxse;  and  I  was  delighted  to  see  Sir 
William  Harcourt.  When  he  came  into  my  room, 
he  observed  my  hunting-crops  hanging  on  the  wall 
from  a  rack,  and  said: 

"I  am  glad  to  see  those  whips!  Asquith  will  be 
able  to  beat  you  if  you  play  fast  and  loose  with  hmi. 
That  little  tight  mouth  of  his  convinces  me  he  has 
the  capacity  to  do  it. 

"After  my  nurse  had  left  the  room,  he  expressed 
surprise  that  I  should  have  an  ugly  woman  near 
me,  however  good  she  might  be,  and  told  me  that 
his  son,  Bobby,  had  been  in  love  with  his  nurse  and 
wrote  to  her  for  several  years.    He  added,  in  his 

Hest  Hanoverian  vein: 

W  "  *I  encourage  my  boys  all  I  can  in  this  line;  it 

promises  well  for  their  future.'  " 

"  "After  some  talk,  Mr.  John  Morley's  card  was 
brought  up  and,  seeing  Sir  William  look  rather  sub- 
dued, I  told  the  servant  to  ask  him  to  wait  in  my 
boudoir  for  a  few  minutes  and  assured  my  guest 
that  I  was  in  no  hurry  for  him  to  go ;  but  Harcourt 
began  to  fidget  about  and  after  a  little  he  insisted 
on  John  Morley  coming  up.  We  had  a  good  talk 
a  trots,  starting  by  abusing  men  who  minded  other 
people's  opinion  or  what  the  newspapers  said  of 

[257] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

them.  Knowing,  as  I  did,  that  both  of  them  were 
highly  sensitive  to  the  Press,  I  encouraged  the  con- 
versation. 

"John  Morley:  *I  can  only  say  I  agree  with 
what  Joe  once  said  to  me,  "I  would  rather  the 
newspapers  were  for  than  against  me." ' 

"Sir  William  :  *My  dear  chap,  you  would  surely 
not  rather  have  the  Daily  Chromcle  on  your  side. 
Why,  bless  my  soul,  our  party  has  had  more  harm 
done  it  through  the  Daily  Chronicle  than  anything 
else!' 

"Margot:  'Do  you  think  so?  I  think  its  screams, 
though  pitched  a  little  high,  are  effective!' 

"John  Morley:  *Oh,  you  like  Massingham,  of 
course,  because  your  husband  is  one  of  his  heroes.'    | 

"Sir  William:  'Well,  all  I  can  say  is  he  always 

abuses  me  and  I  am  glad  of  it.'  f 

I 
"John  Morley:  'He  abuses  me,  too,  though  not,  | 

perhaps,  quite  so  often  as  you!'  i 

"Margot:  *I  would  like  him  to  praise  me.  I  think  | 

his  descriptions  of  the  House  of  Commons  debates  i 

are  not  only  true  and  brilliant  but  fine  literature; 

there  is  both  style  and  edge  in  his  writing  and  I 

rather    like    that    bitter-almond    flavour!      How 

[258] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

strangely  the  paper  changed  over  to  Lord  Rose- 
bery,  didn't  it?' 

"Feeling  this  was  ticklish  ground,  as  Harcourt 
thought  that  he  and  not  Rosebery  should  have  been 
Prime  Minister,  I  turned  the  talk  on  to  Goschen. 

"Sir  William:  *It  is  sad  to  see  the  way  Goschen 
has  lost  his  hold  in  the  country;  he  has  not  been  at 
all  well  treated  by  his  colleagues.' 

"This  seemed  to  me  to  be  also  rather  risky,  so  I 
said  boldly  that  I  thought  Goschen  had  done  won- 
ders in  the  House  and  country,  considering  he  had 
a  poor  voice  and  was  naturally  cautious.  I  told 
them  I  loved  him  personally  and  that  Jowett  at 
whose  house  I  first  met  him  shared  my  feeling  in 
valuing  his  friendship.  After  this  he  took  his  de- 
parturCj  promising  to  bring  me  roses  from  Mal- 
wood. 

"John  Morley — ^the  most  fastidious  and  fas- 
cinating of  men — stayed  on  with  me  and  suggested 
quite  seriously  that,  when  we  went  out  of  office 
(which  might  happen  any  day),  he  and  I  should 
write  a  novel  together.  He  said  that,  if  I  would 
write  the  plot  and  do  the  female  characters,  he 
would  manage  the  men  and  politics. 

[259] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  asked  if  he  wanted  the  old  Wilkie  Collins  idea 
of  a  plot  with  a  hundred  threads  drawn  into  opie 
woof,  or  did  he  prefer  modern  nothingness,  a  shred 
of  a  story  attached  to  unending  analysis  and  the 
infinitely  little  commented  upon  with  elaborate  and 
pretentious  humour.    He  scorned  the  latter. 

I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  want  to  go  permanently 
away  from  politics  to  literature  and  discussed  all 
his  wonderful  books  and  writings.  I  chaffed  him 
about  the  way  he  had  spoken  of  me  before  our  mar- 
riage, in  spite  of  the  charming  letter  he  had  written, 
how  it  had  been  repeated  to  me  that  he  had  said 
my  light-hearted  indiscretions  would  ruin  Henry's 
career;  and  I  asked  him  what  I  had  done  since  to 
merit  his  renewed  confidence. 

"He  did  not  deny  having  criticised  me,  for  al- 
though *Honest  John' — ^the  name  by  which  he  went 
among  the  Radicals — ^was  singularly  ill-chosen,  I 
never  heard  of  Morley  telling  a  lie.  He  was  quite 
impenitent  and  I  admired  his  courage. 

**  After     an     engrossing     conversation,     every 
moment  of  which  I  loved,  he  said  good-bye  to  me 
and  I  leant  back  against  the  pillow  and  gazed  at 
the  pattern  on  the  wall. 
[260] 


i 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

"Henry  came  into  my  room  shortly  after  this  and 
told  me  the  Government  had  been  beaten  by  seven 
in  a  vote  of  censure  passed  on  Campbell-Banner- 
man  in  Supply,  in  connection  with  small  arms  am- 
munition.   I  looked  at  him  wonderingly  and  said: 

"  Are  you  sad,  darling,  that  we  are  out?' 

"To  which  he  replied: 

"  'Only  for  one  reason.  I  wish  I  had  completed 
my  prison  reforms.  I  have,  however,  appointed  the 
best  committee  ever  seen,  who  will  go  on  with  my 
work.  Ruggles-Brise,  the  head  of  it,  is  a  splendid 
little  fellow  I' 

"At  that  moment  he  received  a  note  to  say  he  was 
wanted  in  the  House  of  Commons  immediately,  as 
Lord  Rosebery  had  been  sent  for  by  the  Queen. 
This  excited  us  much  and,  before  he  could  finish 
telling  me  what  had  happened,  he  went  straight 
down  to  Westminster.  .  .  .  John  Morley  had 
missed  this  fateful  division,  as  he  was  sitting  with 
me,  and  Harcourt  had  only  just  arrived  at  the 
House  in  time  to  vote. 

"Henry  returned  at  1  a.m.  and  came  to  say  good 
night  to  me:  he  generally  said  his  prayers  by  my 
bedside.  He  told  me  that  St.  John  Brodrick's  mo- 
tion to  reduce  C.  B.'s  salary  by  £100  had  turned  the 

[261] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

Government  out;  that  Rosebery  had  resigned  and 
gone  straight  down  to  Windsor;  that  Campbell- 
Bannerman  was  indignant  and  hurt ;  that  few  of  our 
men  were  in  the  House;  and  that  Akers  Douglas, 
the  Tory  Whip,  could  not  believe  his  eyes  when  he 
handed  the  figures  to  Tom  Ellis,  our  chief  Whip, 
who  returned  them  to  him  in  silence. 

"The  next  morning  St.  John  Brodrick  came  to 
see  me,  full  of  excitement  and  sympathy.  He  was 
anxious  to  know  if  we  minded  his  being  instru- 
mental in  our  downfall;  but  I  am  so  fond  of  him 
that,  of  course,  I  told  him  that  I  did  not  mind,  as 
a  week  sooner  or  later  makes  no  difference  and 
St.  John's  division  was  only  one  out  of  many  indi- 
cations in  the  House  and  the  country  that  our  time 
was  up.  Henry  came  back  from  the  Cabinet  in  the 
middle  of  our  talk  and  shook  his  fist  in  fun  at  *our 
enemy.'    He  was  tired,  but  good-humoured  as  ever. 

"At  3.30  Princess  Helene  d'Orleans  came  to  see 
me  and  told  me  of  her  engagement  to  the  Due 
d'Aosta.  She  looked  tall,  black  and  distinguished. 
She  spoke  of  Prince  Eddy  to  me  with  great  frank- 
ness. I  told  her  I  had  sometimes  wondered  at  her 
devotion  to  one  less  clever  than  herself.  At  this 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears  and  she  explained  to  me 
[262] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

how  much  she  had  been  in  love  and  the  sweetness 
and  nobility  of  his  character.  I  had  reason  to  know 
the  truth  of  what  she  said  when  one  day  Queen 
Alexandra,  after  talking  to  me  in  moving  terms 
of  her  dead  son,  wrote  in  my  Prayer  Book : 

"Man  looketh  upon  the  countenance,  but  God 
upon  the  heart. 

"Helene  adores  the  Princess  of  Wales*  but  not 
the  Prince !  t  and  says  the  latter's  rudeness  to  her 
brother,  the  Due  d'Orleans,  is  terrible.  I  said 
nothing,  as  I  am  devoted  to  the  Prince  and  think 
her  brother  deserves  any  ill-treatment  he  gets.  I 
asked  her  if  she  was  afraid  of  the  future:  a  new 
country  and  the  prospect  of  babies,  etc.     She  an- 

r^^ered  that  d'Aosta  was  so  genuinely  devoted  that 
would  make  everything  easy  for  her. 
"  *What  would  you  do  if  he  were  unfaithful  to 
you?'  I  asked. 

"Princess  Helene:  *0h!  I  told  Emanuel. 
...  I  said,  "You  see?  I  leave  you.  ...  If 
you  are  not  true  to  me,  I  instantly  leave  you," 
and  I  should  do  so  at  once.' 

*Queen  Alexandra. 
^.King  Edward  VII. 

[263] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH  | 

"She  begged  me  never  to  forget  her,  but  always 
to  pray  for  her. 

"  *I  love  you,'  she  said,  'as  every  one  else  does'; 
and  with  a  warm  embrace  she  left  the  room. 

"She  came  of  a  handsome  family:  Blowitz's 
famous  description,  'de  loin  on  dirait  un  Pmssien, 
de  pres  un  imbecile/  was  made  of  a  near  relation  of 
the  Duchesse  d'Aosta." 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

With  the  fall  of  the  Government  my  diary  of 
that  year  ceases  to  have  the  smallest  interest. 


[264] 


CHAPTER  IX 

MARQOT  IN  1906  SUMS  UP  HEE  LIFE;  A  LOT  OF  LOVE- 
MAKING,  A  LITTLE  FAME  AND  MORE  ABUSE — ^A 
REAL  MAN  AND  GREAT  HAPPINESS 

1WILL  finish  with  a  character-sketch  of  my- 
self copied  out  of  my  diary,  written  nine  weeks 
before  the  birth  of  my  fifth  and  last  baby  in  1906, 
and  like  everything  else  that  I  have  quoted  never 
intended  for  the  public  eye : 

"I  am  not  pretty,  and  I  do  not  know  anything 
about  my  expression,  although  I  observe  it  is  this 
that  is  particularly  dwelt  upon  if  one  is  sufficiently 
plain;  but  I  hope,  when  you  feel  as  kindly  towards 
your  fellow-creatures  as  I  do,  that  some  of  that 
warmth  may  modify  an  otherwise  bright  and  rather 
knif ey  contour, 

"My  figure  has  remained  as  it  was:  slight,  well- 
balanced  and  active.  Being  socially  courageous  and 
not  at  all  shy,  I  think  I  can  come  into  a  room  as 
well  as  many  people  of  more  appearance  and  pres- 
tige. I  do  not  propose  to  treat  myself  like  Mr. 
Bernard  Shaw  in  this  account.    I  shall  neither  ex- 

[265] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

cuse  myself  from  praise,  nor  shield  myself  from 
blame,  but  put  down  the  figures  as  accurately  as  I 
can  and  leave  others  to  add  them  up. 

"I  think  I  have  imagination,  born  not  of  fancy, 
but  of  feeling;  a  conception  of  the  beautiful,  not 
merely  in  poetry,  music,  art  and  nature,  but  in 
human  beings.  I  have  insight  into  human  nature, 
derived  not  only  from  a  courageous  experience,  but 
also  from  imagination;  and  I  have  a  clear  though 
distant  vision,  down  dark,  long  and  often  divergent 
avenues,  of  the  ordered  meaning  of  God.  I  take 
this  opportunity  of  saying  my  religion  is  a  vibrating 
reality  never  away  from  me;  and  this  is  all  I  shall 
write  upon  the  subject. 

"It  is  difficult  to  describe  what  one  means  by 
imagination,  but  I  think  it  is  more  than  inventive- 
ness, or  fancy.  I  remember  discussing  the  question 
with  John  Addington  Symonds  and,  to  give  him  a 
hasty  illustration  of  what  I  meant,  I  said  I  thought 
naming  a  Highland  regiment  *The  Black  Watch' 
showed  a  high  degree  of  imagination.  He  was 
pleased  with  this;  and  as  a  personal  testimonial  I 
may  add  that  both  he  and  Jowett  told  me  that  no 
one  could  be  as  good  a  judge  of  character  as  I  was 
[266] 


^  AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

r   who  was  without  imagination.    In  an  early  love- 
j    letter  to  me,  Henry  wrote : 

"Imaginative  insight  you  have  more  than  any  one 
;   I  have  ever  met! 

"I  think  I  am  deficient  in  one  form  of  imagina- 
tion; and  Henry  will  agree  with  this.  I  have  a 
I  great  longing  to  help  those  I  love:  this  leads  me  to 
intrepid  personal  criticism;  and  I  do  not  always 
know  what  hurts  my  friends'  feelings.  I  do  not 
think  I  should  mind  anything  that  I  have  said  to 
others  being  said  to  me,  but  one  never  can  tell;  I 
have  a  good,  sound  digestion  and  personally  prefer 
knowing  the  truth;  I  have  taken  adverse  criticism 
pretty  well  all  my  life  and  had  a  lot  of  it;  but  by 
some  gap  I  have  not  succeeded  in  makingmy  friends 
take  it  well.  I  am  not  vain  or  touchy;  it  takes  a  lot 
to  offend  me ;  but  when  I  am  hurt  the  scar  remains. 
I  feel  differently  about  people  who  have  hurt  me; 
my  confidence  has  been  shaken;  I  hope  I  am  not 
ungenerous,  but  I  fear  I  am  not  really  forgiving. 
Worldly  people  say  that  explanations  are  a  mis- 
take; but  having  it  out  is  the  only  chance  any  one 
can  ever  have  of  retaining  my  love;  and  those  who 
have  neither  the  courage,  candour  nor  humbleness 

[267] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

to  say  they  are  wrong  are  not  worth  loving.  I  am 
not  afraid  of  suffering  too  much  in  life,  but  much 
more  afraid  of  feeling  too  little ;  and  quarrels  make 
me  profoundly  unhappy.  One  of  my  complaints 
against  the  shortness  of  life  is  that  there  is  not  time 
enough  to  feel  pity  and  love  for  enough  people.  I 
am  infinitely  compassionate  and  moved  to  my  foun- 
dations by  the  misfortunes  of  other  people. 

"As  I  said  in  my  1888  character-sketch,  truthful- 
ness with  me  is  hardly  a  virtue,  but  I  cannot  dis- 
criminate between  truths  that  need  and  those  that 
need  not  be  told.  Want  of  courage  is  what  makes 
so  many  people  lie.  It  would  be  difficult  for  me  to 
say  exactly  what  I  am  afraid  of.  Physically  and 
socially  not  much;  morally,  I  am  afraid  of  a  good 
many  things :  reprimanding  servants,  bargaining  in 
shops;  or  to  turn  to  more  serious  matters,  the  loss 
of  my  health,  the  children's  or  Henry's.  Against 
these  last  possibilities  I  pray  in  every  recess  of  my 
thoughts. 

"With  becoming  modesty  I  have  said  that  I  am 
imaginative,  loving  and  brave!  What  then  are  my 
faults? 

"I  am  fundamentally  nervous,  impatient,  irrita- 
ble and  restless.  These  may  sound  slight  shortcom- 
[268] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

ings,  but  they  go  to  the  foundation  of  my  nature, 
crippling  my  activity,  lessening  my  influence  and 
preventing  my  achieving  anything  remarkable.  I 
wear  myself  out  in  a  hundred  unnecessary  ways, 
regretting  the  trifles  I  have  not  done,  arranging 
and  re-arranging  what  I  have  got  to  do  and  what 
every  one  else  is  going  to  do,  till  I  can  hardly  eat 
or  sleep.  To  be  in  one  position  for  long  at  a  time, 
or  sit  through  bad  plays,  to  Usten  to  moderate  music 
or  moderate  conversation  is  a  positive  punishment 
to  me.  I  am  energetic  and  industrious,  but  I  am  a 
little  too  quick ;  I  am  driven  along  by  my  tempera- 
ment till  I  tire  myself  and  every  one  else. 

"I  did  not  marry  till  I  was  thirty.  This  luckily 
gave  me  time  to  read;  and  I  collected  nearly  a 
thousand  books  of  my  own  before  I  married.  If 
I  had  had  real  application — as  all  the  Asquiths 
have — I  should  by  now  be  a  well-educated  woman; 
but  this  I  never  had.  I  am  not  at  all  dull,  and 
never  stale,  but  I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  grind  at 
uncongenial  things.  I  have  a  good  memory  for 
books  and  conversations,  but  bad  for  poetry  and 
dates;  wonderful  for  faces  and  pitiful  for  names. 

"Physically  I  have  done  pretty  well  for  myself. 

[269] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

I  ride  better  than  most  people  and  have  spent  or 
wasted  more  time  on  it  than  any  woman  of  intellect 
ought  to.  I  have  broken  both  collar-bones,  all  my 
ribs  and  my  knee-cap ;  dislocated  my  jaw,  fractured 
my  skull,  gashed  my  nose  and  had  five  concussions 
of  the  brain ;  but — though  my  horses  are  to  be  sold 
next  week* — I  have  not  lost  my  nerve.  I  dance, 
drive  and  skate  well;  I  don't  skate  very  well,  but  I 
dance  really  well.  I  have  a  talent  for  drawing  and 
am  intensely  musical,  playing  the  piano  with  a 
touch  of  the  real  thing,  but  have  neglected  both 
these  accomplishments.  I  may  say  here  in  self- 
defence  that  marriage  and  five  babies,  five  step- 
children and  a  husband  in  high  politics  have  all 
contributed  to  this  neglect,  but  the  root  of  the 
matter  lies  deeper:  I  am  restless. 

"After  riding,  what  I  have  enjoyed  doing  most  in 
my  life  is  writing.  I  have  written  a  great  deal,  but 
do  not  fancy  publishing  my  exercises.  I  have 
always  kept  a  diary  and  commonplace  books  and 
for  many  years  I  wrote  criticisms  of  everything  I 
read.  It  is  rather  difficult  for  me  to  say  what  I 
think  of  my  own  writing.     Arthur  Balfour  once 

*My  horses  were  sold  at  Tattersalls,  June  11th,  1906. 

[270] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

said  that  I  was  the  best  letter- writer  he  knew; 
Henry  tells  me  I  write  well;  and  Symonds  said  I 
had  VordUe  juste;  but  writing  of  the  kind  that  I 
like  reading  I  cannot  do:  it  is  a  long  apprenticeship. 
Possibly,  if  I  had  had  this  apprenticeship  forced 
upon  me  by  circumstances,  I  should  have  done  it 
better  than  anything  else.  I  am  a  careful  critic 
of  all  I  read  and  I  do  not  take  my  opinions  of  books 
from  other  people;  I  have  not  got  *a  lending- 
library  mind'  as  Henry  well  described  that  of  a 
friend  of  ours.  I  do  not  take  my  opinions  upon 
anything  from  other  people;  from  this  point  of 
view — not  a  very  high  one — I  might  be  called 
original. 

"When  I  read  Arthur  Balfour's  books  and 
essays,  I  realised  before  I  had  heard  them  dis- 
cussed what  a  beautiful  style  he  wrote.  Raymond, 
whose  intellectual  taste  is  as  fine  as  his  father's, 
wrote  in  a  paper  for  his  All  Souls  Fellowship  that 
Arthur  had  the  finest  style  of  any  living  writer;  and 
Raymond  and  Henry  often  justify  my  literary 
verdicts. 

"From  my  earliest  age  I  have  been  a  collector: 
not  of  anything  particularly  valuable,  but  of  letters, 

[271] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

old  photographs  of  the  family,  famous  people  and 
odds  and  ends.  I  do  not  lose  things.  Our  cigarette 
ash-trays  are  plates  from  my  dolls'  dinner-service; 
I  have  got  china,  books,  whips,  knives,  match-boxes 
and  clocks  given  me  since  I  was  a  small  child.  I 
have  kept  our  early  copy-books,  with  all  the  family 
signatures  in  them,  and  many  trifling  landmarks  of 
nursery  life.  I  am  painfully  punctual,  tidy  and 
methodical,  detesting  indecision,  change  of  plans 
and  the  egotism  that  they  involve.  I  am  a  little 
stern  and  severe  except  with  children:  for  these  I 
have  endless  elasticity  and  patience.  Many  of  my 
faults  are  physical.  If  I  could  have  chosen  my  own 
life — ^more  in  the  hills  and  less  in  the  traffic — I 
should  have  slept  better  and  might  have  been  less 
overwrought  and  disturbable.  But  after  all  I  may 
improve,  for  I  am  on  a  man-of-war,  as  a  friend  once 
said  to  me,  which  is  better  than  being  on  a  pirate- 
ship  and  is  a  profession  in  itself. 

"Well,  I  have  finished;  I  have  tried  to  relate  of 
my  manners,  morals,  talents,  defects,  temptations, 
and  appearance  as  faithfully  as  I  can;  and  I  think 
there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  If  I  had  to  con- 
fess and  expose  one  opinon  of  myself  which  might 
[272] 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

differentiate  me  a  little  from  other  people,  I  should 
say  it  was  my  power  of  love  coupled  with  my  power 
of  criticism,  but  what  I  lack  most  is  what 
Henry  possesses  above  all  men:  equanimity,  mod- 
eration, self-control  and  the  authority  that  comes 
from  a  perfect  sense  of  proportion.  I  can  only 
pray  that  I  am  not  too  old  or  too  stationary  to 
acquire  these. 

Margot  Asquith. 
"P.S.  This  is  my  second  attempt  to  write  about 
I  myself  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  my  old  char- 
j  acter-sketch  of  1888  is  not  the  better  of  the  two — 
I  it  is  more  external — but,  after  all,  what  can  one 
I  say  of  one's  inner  self  that  corresponds  with  what 
:  one  really  is  or  what  one's  friends  think  one  is? 
Just  now  I  am  within  a  few  weeks  of  my  baby's 
birth  and  am  tempted  to  take  a  gloomy  view.  I 
am  inclined  to  sum  up  my  life  in  this  way: 

"  *An  unfettered  childhood  and  triumphant 
youth;  a  lot  of  love-making  and  a  little  abuse;  a 
little  fame  and  more  abuse;  a  real  man  and  great 
happiness;  the  love  of  children  and  seventh  heaven; 
an  early  death  and  a  crowded  memorial  service.' 
"But  perhaps  I  shall  not  die,  but  live  to  write  an- 

[273] 


MARGOT  ASQUITH 

other  volume  of  this  diary  and  a  better  description 
of  an  improved  self." 


THE  END 


[274] 


INDEX 


Alexandra,   Queen 
Archer,  Fred  .    . 


Argyll,  Duke  of 
Arnold,  Matthew 
Asquith,  Anthony 
Asquith,  Arthur  . 
Asquith,  Cyril  .  . 
Asquith,  Mrs.  Helen 
Asquith,  Herbert  Henry 


I,  117-8. 
I,  198,  201. 
II,  75-6. 

I,  206;  II,  74. 
II,  230. 
II,  226-7. 
II,  211-3. 
II,  233-4. 

I,  156-7;  210,  234,  237,  252; 
II,  113,      116,      119,      191-6, 
235-6,  261. 

Asquith,    Herbert,    Jr II,  224. 

Asquith,    Joseph    Dixon II,  91. 

Asquith,  Mrs.  Joseph II,  91-2. 

Asquith,       Mrs.       Margot,       character 
sketches  written  by  herself  ....    II,  77-9,  265-73. 

Asquith,  Raymond II,  215-8. 

Asquith,     Violet.      See    Carter,    Lady 
Bonham, 

Austin,  Alfred IT,  61. 

Aylesbury,  Dowager  Marchioness  of  .      I,  74. 


B 

Baker,    Harold II,  222. 

Balfour,   Right   Hon.    A.   J I,  38,  251,  256-62; 

II,  117,  122,  271. 

Balfour,  Lady   Blanche I,  263. 

Balfour,  Lady  Frances II,  75. 

Battersea,  Lord II»  19^- 

[275] 


INDEX 

Beaufort,  Duke  of I,  135-8. 

Bibe»co,    Princess I,  30. 

Birrell,   Augustine II,  134. 

BUratsky,    Madame I,  212-3. 

Blunt,    Wilfrid I,  SO. 

Bo,  Mrs II,  150-7. 

Bohemian    Society II,  195. 

Border  people  and  Southern  English    .  I,  50. 

Bowen,  Lord II,  126-7. 

Brodrick,    St.    John.      See    Midleton, 
Earl  of. 

Bryan,    W.    J I,  214. 

Burke,  Mr.,  Murder  of I,  203. 

Burns,    Robert I,  35. 

Bufineis  men I,  33. 

Buxton,  Francis I,  16<?. 

C 

Campbell-Bannerman,   Sir   Henry   .    .  I,  252-5. 
Canterbury,  Archbishop  of.  See  David- 
son, Randall  T. 

Carlyle,  Jane  Welsh II,  48 

Carnegie,  Andrew II,  74. 

Carter,  Lady  Bonham II,  213-5. 

Carendish,  Lord  Frederick,  murder  of  I,  203. 

Cecil,  Lord  Hugh I,  237. 

Cecil,  Lord  Robert I,  237. 

Chamberlain,   Joseph I,  218-9,  237-8. 

Chaplin,    Mrs I,  141,  143. 

Church    of    England I,  242. 

Churchill,  Lady  Randolph I,  131. 

Churchill,  Lord  Randolph I,  126-30,  209;  II,  199. 

Clarke,     Lady II,  16. 

Cliiford's    Factory I,  108-16. 

Cobden I,  231. 

Conservative  Party I,  204. 

Coquelin Ij  245-6. 

Country    Conversations I,  233. 

Crewe,   Marchioness  of II,  89. 

[276] 


INDEX 

Crouch,    Mr II,  200. 

Cunard,  Gordon II    13^^ 

Curzon,  Lord .  II,  14-9S. 

D 

D'Abernon,    Lord I,  30. 

"Daily    Chronicle" H^  ^53, 

Dalhousie,  Earl  of I,  231. 

Davidson,  Randall  T.     Archbishop  of 

Canterbury II,  101. 

Desborough,  Lord  and  Lady  ....  II,  S6-T. 

Devonshire,  Duchess  of I,  117,  209-17. 

Devonshire,  Duke  of I,  132-S,  314,  283. 

Dilke,  Sir  Charles .  I,  148,  J18-9. 

Disestablishment II,  121. 

Dresden I,  161,  0t  teq. 

Dudley,  Countess  of I,  118. 

Duff,  Thomas  Gordon I,  IS. 

Duncan,  Dr.   Matthews I,  97. 

E 

Edward  VII I,  121-9,  125,  180-2. 

Elcho,    Lord II,  31. 

Eyton^  Canon I,  181-2. 

F 

Flower,  Peter II,  132,  137-90. 

Free  Trade I,  241. 

G 

Games .  I,  74,  77;  II,  12. 

George  IV I,  227. 

George  V I,  122. 

German  "spies" I,  160. 

Gladstone,  Lord I,  19. 

Gladstone,  William  Ewart I,  105-6,  219-35;  II,  80,  118, 

193,  204,  232. 

Glen I,  46-8. 

[277] 


INDEX 

Glencoimer,    Lord I»  14,    19-20. 

Gordon,  Charles  G.,  G«n II,  126-7. 

Goschen I,  231;   II,  259. 

Graf  Von  — I,  170-3. 

Graham,    Peter I,  54. 

Granard,  Countess  of II,  90. 

Greatness,   elements   of II,  101. 

Green,  Thomas    Hill I,  81-2. 

Green,    Mrs.    T.    H II,  127. 

Grey  of  Fallodon,  Viscount   .     .     .     .  II,  128,  223-4. 

Grosvenor,  Countess  of I,  133.  *        ' 

H  * 

Haldane,    Lord I,  28;    II,  254-5. 

Haldane,    Mrs I,  57. 

Hamlyn,    Mrs II,  135-6. 

Harcourt,    Sir   William I,  252;  II,  256-9. 

Hartington,     Lord.     See     Devonshire, 
Duke  of. 

Heseltine,    Mr I,  28. 

Hill,    Henry 11,  160-1. 

Hirsch,  Baron I,  191-202. 

Hirsch,    Lucien I,  193. 

Home  Rule.     See  Ireland,. 

Horner,  Lady II,  42. 

House  of  Lords I,  241. 

Huxley,  T.   H II,  123-7. 

I 
Ireland:    Home   Rule  question    ...       I,  203-7,  232;   II,  116. 

J 

James,    Henry II,  70-3. 

Jeune,    Lady 11,  116. 

Jowett,  Dr.  Benjamin I,  81;  II,  eh.  ii  passim 

K 

Keppel,  Hon.  Mrs.  George II,  90. 

Kimberley,  Lord I,  232. 

Kuhlman I,  206. 

[278] 


INDEX 


L 

Langtry,    Mrs I,  117. 

Law,  A.   Bonar I,  33. 

Lawson,  Cecil I,  24. 

Leconfield,  Lady II,  111. 

Lewis,     Sam II,  177. 

Liddell,   A.  G.   C I,  39,  45,  59,  63. 

Londonderry,  Lady II,  38-41. 

Lyall,   Sir  Alfred II,  1^4-5. 

Lymington,    Lord I,  78. 

Lyttleton,    Alfred I,  77-89. 

Lyttleton,  Mrs.  Alfred  (Laura)  ...      I,  53,  59-107. 

M 

Mach,  Frau  von I,  159,  et  seq. 

McKenna,  Mrs II,  90. 

Manners,  Lord  and  Lady II,  131-6. 

Marsh,    Catherine II,  95. 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots II,  230. 

Massingham,  Henry  W II,  258. 

Maybrick,  Mrs II,  238-42. 

Mennecy,    Mdlle.    de I,  144,  et  seq. 

Meredith,    George II,  61,    67. 

Midleton,   Earl  of II,  26-9,  262. 

Miller,  Sir  WUHam I,  184-91. 

Money-making .      I,  33. 

Montgomery,   Sir  Graham I,  70-1. 

Morison,    Mary I,  59. 

Morley,     Lord I,  222;  II,  73-5,  232-3,  257- 

61. 

N 

Napier,  Hon.  Mark I,  28,  42. 

Nettleship,  Richard  L.    ......  II,  114. 

Newman,  Cardinal II,  113. 

Nightingale,  Florence II,  105-7,  119. 

O 

Oliphant,  Laurence II,  138. 

[279] 


INDEX 


I 


P 

Parnell,   Charles    S I,  331. 

"Peggy  Bedford"  public  house  ...  I,  112-5. 

Pembroke,  Earl  and  Countess  of  .    .  I,  30;  II,  29-32. 

Phoenix  Park  murders I,  203. 

Planchette I,  211. 

Positivism I,  264-6. 

Prayer  written  by  Lady  Blanche  Bal- 
four        I,  263. 

Protection I,  241. 


R 

Religion,  Jowctt  on II,  121-2. 

Ribblesdale,  Lady I,  15,  42. 

Ribblesdale,   Lord I,  28-30. 

"Robert  Elsmere" II,  107,  110,  112. 

Ro«ebery,  Earl  and  Countess  of    .    .  I,  28,  244,  247-52;  II,  111. 

198. 

Rothschild,    Lord I,  14. 

Ruggles-Brise II,  261. 

S 

Sabbath,    Scottish I,  57. 

Salisbury,    Marquis    of I,  126-9,  210,  236-43. 

Saunderson,     Col I,  74. 

Scott,    Alexander I,  215. 

Scottish  people I,  50. 

Scottish  Sabbath I,  57. 

Sdbomc,  Earl  of I,  124. 

Simpson,  Sir  James I,  42. 

Smith,  Mrs.  Graham I,  15. 

Society,  Jowctt  on I,  115. 

Souls,  The II,  Ch.  I. 

Soveral,  Marquis  of I,  92. 

Spiritualism I,  212. 

Spy  mania I,  160. 

Stephen,    Jamcf    K II,  58-9. 

[280] 


INDEX 

Stubbs,  Bishop I^  230 

I     Sfmonds,  J.  A II,  39^1,  60.70. 


Tadema,  Sir  Alma I,  75. 

Taylor,  Jerusha II,  251. 

Tcimant,  Sir  Charles I,  20-35. 

Tcnnant,    Lady I,  35-45. 

Tennant,    Francis I,  18. 

Teimant,  Right  Hon.  H.  J I,  17. 

Tennant  family I,  Ch.  I. 

Tennyson,    Lionel .  II,  44,  81. 

Tennyson,  Lord II,  45,  54. 

"Thunderer" I,  183. 

"Titanic" I,  157. 

Toilet,    Miss I,  233. 

Traquair    Kirk I,  57. 

Tubb 1,  15. 


Vaughan,   Kate I,  246. 

Victoria,  Queen I,  211;  II,  256. 

Voltaire I,  122. 

W 

Walker,  Frederick I,  24. 

Walter,  Arthur I,  174-6. 

Walter,   Catherine I,  35. 

Ward,  Mrs.  Humphry II,  107,  110,  111. 

Webb,  Godfrey I,  62;  II,  24-5,  77. 

Wdldon,      Mr II,  111. 

Wemyss  and  March,  Earl  of  ...    .      I,  30. 

Wemyss,  Countess  of II,  88-9. 

West,  Sir  Algernon II,  24. 

Whitman,    Phoebe I,  112-16. 

WiUans    family II,  191. 

Williams,  Sir  John II,  251-2. 

Williams,  John  K II,  191. 


[281] 


INDEX 


rUson,   J.    M 

....    II,  111 

^insloe   family 

....       I,  35. 

l^ood,  Inspector 

....     II,  161 

Wormwood  Scrubs  .... 

....     II,  237. 

i^yndham,  George  .... 

....    II,  22, 

[2821 


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DA 

Oxford  and  Asquith,  Marg 

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An  autobiography 

08A3 

1920 

V.2 

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